


Debate Anonymous

by CamilleMay



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, F/M, M/M, Multi, Secret Admirer, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-12
Updated: 2017-06-11
Packaged: 2018-09-23 20:01:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 47,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9673937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CamilleMay/pseuds/CamilleMay
Summary: Alexander Hamilton didn’t think he was a very desirable person, and this was because of some pretty convincing reasons, too. He’s argumentative, hot-tempered, arrogant, a loud mouth, and, to Hamilton’s great dismay and high reluctance to admit, short. He’s also officer of Treasury for the Debate Club in which he dedicates all his time and is a classic workaholic. So, when suddenly he receives an anonymous email saying that in fact Hamilton is very desirable and is in fact so desirable that this anonymous speaker has totally been crushing on him for three years, he’s more than a bit surprised. Above all, however, Hamilton is curious and a nosy little fucker who is now getting to the bottom of this mysterious email.Thomas Jefferson, on the other hand, totally didn’t mean to click send.





	1. Dearly Beloved, 3TruVirjinian3

Late night was one of Alexander’s prime write times. Actually, any time of day really is Alexander’s prime time when it comes to writing. He just likes writing, ok? Especially when it’s the night before a debate- And not just any debate; It’s a debate between him and Thomas _fucking_ Jefferson. Hamilton’s fingers practically curled in hardly contained tingles just thinking about that bush-head. He had to give it to Jefferson, debates with him _were_ the funnest. Mostly because Hamilton was almost always, irreversibly right and it was hilarious Jefferson even attempting to question him. And boy, did he question him. On every, little, thing.  

Hamilton sighs, scrunching his eyes and wiping his hands up his face and into his hair, wincing at its oily state. Shower, right. He should take a break anyway. And stop thinking about Jefferson if he wanted even the slightest relief of his pounding headache anytime tonight, or more importantly tomorrow.

Moving quietly, minding his roommate's sleeping silhouette across the room from him, Hamilton stealthily slipped into the bathroom, groaning slightly as his body ached from lack of movement and extended, slump-backed strain.  

Washing off was quick and relaxing, a nice cool down from the abyss that was his computer monitor, still calling to him now and whispering in seductive tongues for his continued, languished hours of typing.

Hamilton groaned once again. He hadn’t failed to notice the time before he’d finally gotten to showering. Despite the fact that standing in the steady stream of blissful cool and quietness tended to stir up his creative juices again, Hamilton fought valiantly against his own wandering mind so he could finally get some sleep. In all likelihood he’d need it more than the notes he’d been typing up so late into the night, and of which he’d probably discard anyways half way through a heated debate and start freestyling it. 

Every debate was the same and yet so different at the same time when it came to the all too infamous Hamilton and Jefferson dynamic. One thing that never changed, however, was that every member would show for it- often the entertainment value of this event wasn’t something any self-respecting debate lover could miss. Some students not even in the debate club would come by to watch, it was such an exciting event. Plus, the debate club was something taken pretty seriously amongst campus, as it was one of its most specialists studies.

Eagle Private University was a fairly prestigious college to get into, located in hot spot New York and famous for its communications and cultural study degrees. The story of how Alexander, an immigrant orphan, managed to get into such a high-caliber place of study is a conversation for another time, and in fact one that Alexander never has with anyone ever. The only thing any outsider could get from him was that he was originally from the Caribbean, and that was about it, so any assumptions after that Hamilton blames entirely on Eagle’s notorious rumor mill.    

Said (now sufficiently wet) man sighed again, turning off the jet stream and feebly trying to ward off thoughts that’d inevitably place him back in front of the computer. Brushing his teeth and attempting to soak up his drenched locks, Alex reminisced faintly about how long it was getting now. Honestly, he prefered to just never mess with it at all and leave it to the hair-bands to manage his insufferable, thick curls. That would require, however, that Hamilton actually hold on to hair-bands, and the Schuyler sisters could only offer him so much before they outright banned him from borrowing any hair product under the Schuyler name. He’d just have to live with the consequences of constantly having to slick it back, then. So annoying.

Quickly Hamilton ran from steamy, comforting bathroom, to cold, merciless bedroom in which he slipped on a new pair of everything; his traditional sweatpants and plain T included, and then almost managed to swoop into bed’s sweet embrace. But of course, Hamilton just couldn't resist, and he had one more quick routine check up on his computer. Pages upon pages of research and contemplation successfully saved, Hamilton checked on the last item of his made up checklist for tonight; his email. 

To his surprise, something bolded and unread sat in his inbox.  

______________

Everyone deals with stress differently. For some it’s punching a pillow, for others it’s binge watching your favorite TV show, but for Thomas- Well, Thomas does the equivalent of writing a letter full with all the grievances troubling him and then shredding it afterwards. The digital version of that, anyways. Call it nerdy and old fashioned, but it really did help vent his frustrations. And that’s why Thomas Jefferson sat, laptop on lap, nervous and giddy in the wake of the night much like his counterpart Hamilton was.

Because Jefferson, too, was clouded with thoughts of tomorrow, yet it was for a slightly different reason. It wasn’t the first time he’d done this; typing out long, growing sentences for this one particular issue Jefferson couldn’t help but torture over. After all, the problem walked and talked and followed him around every waking day. This, of course, is referring to Alexander _fucking_ Hamilton. But this feeling wasn’t the typical scornful letter one would make just to trash; it was something much more maddening.

Jefferson popped his fingers nervously, as he always did before he wrote these letters. He’d written and typed about many things before; The first being when his dog died and his mother had him write out of the mourning process. Next was when James Madison had taken what Thomas had believed to be a ball divinely bestowed to be his and his alone. A few petty ones after that here and there, and soon it became his go-to coping mechanism. But out of all those emails and letters, it was always when he wrote on this particular subject that he felt the most anxious. Because he couldn't stand the very thought of it getting out, was the reason- He knew he’d trash it later, but still- He’d rather _die_ than allow it to get out.

With such worries you’d think Jefferson would have resorted to another coping mechanism, but the emails had worked so supremely for him so far he’d never really developed another way of figuring out his problems, and this wasn’t something he could exactly share with anyone.

_Hamilton,_

Thomas paused, nervous still, licking his lips and back spacing the address. He stretched his fingers out, sighing and eyes burning with lack of sleep. He really ought to sleep, but his insistent, fluttery thoughts were keeping him awake. He could hardly ever sleep the night before a debate with Hamilton anymore- The whole thing made him too wound up and anticipating to sleep right, at least without releasing the tension a bit.

He almost chuckled at this thought. It seemed, really, that emails on this certain matter only seemed to wind him up even more, and now that he thought about it, a deep frown settled. Why _was_ he writing this? It didn’t help. Of all of the seven times he’s wrote it out, it’s never helped _once_ . All it did was make him contemplate on the matter for far longer than he should, picking and sorting and diving even deeper into the hole he’d dug himself into. I guess, he thought, maybe that was because… he was just seeing if he _could_ do it. Like a little experiment. Just revising each time to make sure he got it just right, so maybe one day he’d finally press send.

Thomas shook his head. Such dangerous, rash thoughts made Jefferson wonder if now was the time he should get back to bed before he did something worthy of Hamilton levels of stupid and reckless.

The thought of it made him smirk. He caught himself. Thomas, at this point, should have been seriously questioning his sanity, but some guilty pleasure was tugging at his will and before Thomas could think more on it he was already planning out what he’d start typing again.

Hamilton- Hamilton didn’t sound right. His eyes returned to the screen, guilty but eager. Could he? Would he even _dare_? Hesitantly, on the edge of his seat he typed;

_Alexandar,_

The name looked so perfect on the typed space it scared him. It felt so right- Just the way he’d do it if it were for real, or so he liked to think, anyways-

Jefferson tufted at his own grinning-buffoon of a mess right now. It was pathetic. It was nerdy. It wasn’t something anyone would ever catch him doing ever, but Hamilton had that effect of making him do stupid things.

_I love your eyes. I love the way you smile when you're excited, and I wish you'd smile more often. Lord, I love your hair (you should wear it up more often), and the way you always brush it back unconsciously when you get really into something you’re working on. I love how passionate you are; I love how you spread like a wildfire to everyone you talk to. I love that you stand for a cause- always. I love how every morning you're at the printer juggling five stacks of papers and a coffee. I love how you're always either extremely late or unbelievably early. I love how over the top and persistent you are. I love how you always have something to say, and when you're not saying anything, drumming your fingers like you are physically unable to stay still for once in your life. I love your ambition- I love how you're always fighting, even when you don't need to. I love how loyal you are to your friends. I love how angry you get about everything. I love how you infuriate me and challenge me. I love how you make me a better person. I love how you inspire me._

Thomas paused, releasing a breath, and clenched and unclenched his fingers a bit. He felt better, yet at the same time, more distraught than before. Because now the words were out there- words he had been silently harboring for three years. They were out there, outside his exclusive head space for anyone to see. 

In the beginning the letters had been angry- complaining about Hamilton and all the things he did that infuriated Jefferson. Hamilton was unlike anything he'd ever encountered so far. Thomas was an easy guy to like; suave, a tad egotistical but still good natured, and always the quickest and scholar of every room he stepped in. He was magnetic like that, people just tended to follow him- And yet Alexander Hamilton had managed, within one hour of knowing him, to absolutely despise him on seemingly every issue. The unexpected wrath had thrown him off at first, and made him ultimately decide to return the hate back. They went on with this, sometimes disagreeing just for the sake of disagreeing, and soon became the infamous and long standing rivalry of the Debate Club. This heated atmosphere Hamilton always seemed to push onto him, however, still annoyed and caught Thomas’s attention like nothing else. And so he began to write and then discard about it.

Slowly the letters had begun to change, though. The more he thought about it, the more he observed Hamilton, and the more he observed Hamilton, the more he thought about it. It was an unrelenting cycle that lead him to slowly become too familiar with every little habit Hamilton managed to possess. It was then that he realized, in some twisted way, that Thomas actually _really liked_ Hamilton.

And so he began writing about that- about how confused he felt sometimes about his counterpart. How sometimes Hamilton was the only thing worth watching in the room. How much Hamilton lured yet also repulsed him at the same time. Then he started noticing the little things; How when Alex blushed it was his ears that caught fire first, how his eyes widened when he was happy or excited, and narrowed and crunched when he was ‘putting someone in their place’, how tiny, 5’6 Hamilton brought most men down to their knees… Hamilton just attracted Jefferson, much like the way Jefferson had thought he attracted others. Something about that wild spirit kept him coming back. Maybe it was because he liked a challenge, maybe it was because Hamilton kept his life interesting, or maybe it was because Hamilton reminded him of a firecracker; something pretty to watch but can never be touched.

Jefferson had always fantasized that the person he'd find most desirable would be an agreeable companion- someone wise and understanding. Someone he could hold and be held by. What he ended up getting was this highly opposed, drama queen, fire-spitting brat. And he loved it. It's like one of those things you never knew you wanted until you had it- and even then still question it.

Thomas stared at the screen, hesitating. He was becoming sick of writing these emails and not getting any answers. Ranting wasn't doing it this time, and soon he felt he'd do something crazy to get it to stop bothering him. Something needed to change.

_It's been three years and I'm still stuck on you._

And even on a computer screen no one would ever see, Thomas still couldn’t quite finish what he secretly wanted to say, “ _Please tell me you feel the same.”_

Thomas dare not ever write his name at the bottom. He didn't even do that for his other, less important throw away emails. Too much risk to chance.

Yet another unproductive night reminiscing over a certain blabbermouth, Thomas reminisced, scooting his laptop off of him and placing it on his bedside. Settling down, Thomas reached with one long arm to press the ceremonial trash can he was so well acquainted with.

It was in that moment that it happened.

Hazed by sleep, and not thinking clearly on his task and still rather upset, Thomas failed to realize that his finger had become misplaced, hovering now above the ‘Send’ button rather than the ‘Trash’, which was conveniently and unconventionally placed right beside it. He hadn't even realized something was amiss until a mysterious lack of “Are you sure you want to discard? All unsaved drafts will be deleted” caught his attention. Curious now, he leaned further out of the bed, grabbing the screen to bring closer to his face.

“Message successfully sent. View message?”

No words could quite define how Thomas felt in that moment. A hollow, windy feeling raked through his gut and into his soul before he could finally start panicking. Denial instilled first, unbelieving that he’d sent _that_ email. Maybe it was another? Like he’d managed to miss-click _twice_. It took him several seconds of just sitting there in stunned silence before he finally jolted up, every sense of sleep wisped from his consciousness and replaced with a deep seated fear. He quickly clicked back onto the link sending him to a preview of the now sent email, scanning it for what he felt like he needed to re-read ten times to be fully convinced it was in fact what he thought it was.

It was sent.

He sat there, unable to do anything.

It was gone. How could he fix this? Raking his hands through his hair Thomas bit hard down onto his lip, questioning to all Gods why he had put in Hamilton’s actual email address into the ‘ _Send To_ :’ box. Thomas had thought before it’d help get him into the mindset of actually sending the email to a specific person- Added to the realism of it all. He wasn’t ever supposed to actually send it.

A spear, like lightening, struck him then, and with reluctant yet speedy eyes Thomas looked to see which account he had been using. He always made sure to use his old email which didn’t have his actual name tied to it, for these certain stress-relief, fake letters. Just in case. But he still needed to check- just so he could know how legitimately fucked he was right now. He could’ve always forgotten to switch (he never did, especially with the fake emails to Hamilton, but still). He groaned in absolute heavenly praise when the tell tale “3TruVirjinian3@postalE.com” read on the sender information. It was an embarrassing username he’d used since middle school- being from Virginia he’d thought it was cool back then, and three was his lucky number. He’d only stopped using this ‘cool’ username on his social medias when James had mentioned it looked and sounded like “TrueVirgin”. He hadn't been too happy about that.

Oh how flattered Hamilton must feel right now, receiving a love letter from one 3TruVirjinian3. Thomas couldn’t help laughing out loud now at that, shaking his head and digging his hands into his bushy mane, face a burning mess. His heart pounded rapidly, and feeling too hot, he kicked off the covers of his bed.

He was so fucked. Not irreversibly, but still pretty fucked.

He could have at least written it better.

Thomas sat there a moment, everything finally hitting him at full impact. It was then that it finally occurred to him, and much too late, as he nearly slapped himself for his pure idiocy. Not wasting another precious moment, he quickly went into his settings and then sent mail. It was around three am, no one was up at this time to open emails, so he could possibly recall the email and Hamilton wouldn’t ever see it. Typing away, Jefferson cursed at himself for how quickly this all could’ve been avoided had he thought lighter on his feet. He hardly believed Hamilton’s up but at the same time any amount of extended time was precious at this point. Plus, the past few moments of near-heart attack would’ve been nice to not have lived through.

Locating and selecting the offending message, Thomas tapped faster than he’d ever recalled, and with one last tap, let out the breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding.

“ _Processing…_ ”

Thomas waited, anticipation high, but confident he’d made it out of one gigantic thing he would’ve been bound to worry about for the next month.

“ _Message already opened by receiver._ ”

…

It was like getting stabbed with an ice pick all over again. Thomas couldn’t even process it for a moment. Already opened-?! How was it?- Backtracking, he went back to settings, making damn sure he’d selected the right email which he re-read again to make _absolute sure_ it was the right one.

“ _Processing…_ ”

...

“ _Message already opened by receiver._ ”

And again, and again he tried. And yet…

“ _Message already opened by receiver._ ”

It would figure that Alexander _fucking_ Hamilton would be up at such an hour, and just happened to be cruising his email in the mere minutes Thomas had sent it and then recalled it. He tried to convince himself it was just some glitch in the system and really the message had been recalled or not sent to Hamilton in the first place. Things were just glitching out. Emails can crash, right?

Jefferson slammed his laptop, feeling remarkably cold and not sleepy anymore, curling up in his discarded sheets and clenching onto them hard.

Well _fuck_.  

______________

Who the fuck was _3TruVirjinian3_? For a moment Alex wondered if this was just some spammer or subscription he definitely hadn't meant to subscribe to. And yet it had shown up in his private inbox- not promotions or social. It had no subject line. Suspicious, Hamilton opened it.

_Alexander,_

_I love your eyes. I love the way you smile when you're excited, and I wish you'd smile more often. Lord, I love your hair (you should wear it up more often), and the way you always brush it back unconsciously when you get really into something you’re working on. I love how passionate you are; I love how you spread like a wildfire to everyone you talk to. I love that you stand for a cause- always. I love how every morning you're at the printer juggling five stacks of papers and a coffee. I love how you're always either extremely late or unbelievably early. I love how over the top and persistent you are. I love how you always have something to say, and when you're not saying anything, drumming your fingers like you are physically unable to stay still for once in your life. I love your ambition- I love how you're always fighting, even when you don't need to. I love how loyal you are to your friends. I love how angry you get about everything. I love how you infuriate me and challenge me. I love how you make me a better person. I love how you inspire me._

_It's been three years and I'm still stuck on you._

Hamilton read it, and then read it again- once more, and then a fourth time.

...What?

His first thought was that it was a prank. I mean, _3TruVirjinian3_? It could be a code name but wouldn’t any true admirer (not that Alex would really know because he’d never had one before) go by something a little more mysterious? Suave?

He read it again.

Well it definitely wasn’t some chainmail or something- It was much too specific. Hamilton read it again, but this time the words brought a slight curious, small curl of hope in his stomach. He shook himself, wanting himself to stop feeling so giddy all of a sudden. But he couldn’t help it. Before he knew it he had read it again. Whoever this was, they had done their research. His unwelcome hope rose even higher into his chest. Who would go so in depth for such a simple prank? I mean all they had to write was;

_Alexander,_

_I’m your secret admirer. I love you, really. Meet me by Science Department A Wing stairs so we can make out. Promise there won't be a gang of fraternity boys there to dunk egg yolk and feathers all over you._

_Genuinely, Yours Always, Mysterious-McSterious-Pants_

Instead it was… moving. Hamilton stared at the screen, his face unintentionally heating up and his chest inflating just a bit in suspense. He’d never thought of himself… in _that_ light before. He knew he was annoying. But for someone to find it… charming? Hamilton couldn’t help but feel flattered- He was weak to any form of praise, whether if he’s suspicious of its fidelity or not. This was pretty convincing, but Hamilton refused to believe a word of it. It could just be a highly elaborate, cruel prank some asshole was pulling to see if he could get Alexander _No-Dates-Since-Ever_ Hamilton. Probably thought him an easy target.

He read it again.

Sighing, Alexander willed himself away. He needed to sleep. Tucking in, however, he soon realized he was, once again, wide awake.

Why do these things always happen to him?  

 


	2. Dearly Beloved, A.Ham

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Man buns, shit-throwing, and determination.

Next morning wasn’t exactly bright and shiny- That probably had to do with the fact that it was only six am and during the winter months, but that didn’t mean Hamilton still couldn’t be pissy about it. Securing his scarf around his neck after the third wrap, Alexander didn’t quite frankly give a flying fuck if he looked ridiculous or not. It was too damn cold, and anyone running around at six am had to be just as crazy as him, so…

He had to get to school early. Like he did most days, actually. It was a Saturday so not too many classes were going on but it was always crowded at the library, so if he wanted to get even close to getting his stuff printed he had to come right as the place opened. 

Shivering, and still trying to creep over his still snoozing bunkmate, Alexander made for the door, half-delirious. Stopping a moment, however, in the cramped hallway sporting both the doorway and minimalist bathroom, the young man slipped his torso into the bathroom doorway, cursing as he hit his side into something before blindly, and without putting a great deal of thought into it, shuffled through one of John’s, his roommate's, drawers. Not that Hamilton actually had a drawer. The entire space was dominated solely by his slightly over-eccentric room buddy, but Alex wouldn’t have used the space anyway so he didn’t care much.

He grabbed what he wanted, a thin blue band, and quickly flipped and tossed his hair into a low bun. His hair usually helped in mornings with covering the nape of his neck from the cold weather, and then later in the evening annoyed him by getting in his way, but today he was wearing a scarf so it didn’t offer its previous protection. 

He stopped suddenly when he remembered- Oh yeah, the letter. He stood, guilty. The bun was because his usual hair bothered him, he reasoned. He needed to get it cut. The email had not one damn thing to do with it. He thought this, but before leaving paused when he usually didn’t, checking his appearance in the large mirror that took up the wall right before the door.

He was dressed in the usual grey trench coat, khaki pants, and over stuffed, covering-half-his-head, olive scarf. His bun was extremely messy (he had never quite learned how to do it up as perfectly as Peggy’s) and strands were still stray, acting as a sort of bangs. 

He huffed, annoyed with how the strands would probably get in his way anyways and ruin the whole ‘purpose’ the bun was supposedly supposed to have. Whatever, he thought, shaking his head at the out of character, self-conscious actions he was taking today. The bun would come undone later anyways.

He, of course, was secretly even unto himself wondering if maybe he’d wear it up more often. Because despite the fact that the email was probably a hoax, maybe if it wasn’t (but it totally was) he’d make just one more person happier today. His ears, over cuddled by his scarf, burned heatedly as he thought about a certain someone seeing his hair today and thinking- heaven forbid- it was attractive? Would they know he had put it up because they wanted him to? Which he totally didn’t, but still. Was this unknowingly giving them some sort of consent? Was it showing he was interested? Not that he wasn’t interested, but… 

Hamilton shook his head. Opening the door, his previous thoughts making him warm up uncomfortably suddenly made him very grateful after a huge gush of dried, frozen air engulfed him. Instantly he rid his mind of his inner monologue and back into self-hating dismay. 

The track to campus was always brutal. Like most college students, he walked everywhere, and it didn't help that his rickety, out-of-the-way dorm was the crappiest and also poorest located. It was the only thing his scholarships would cover, though. Campus was relatively flat and fun to trek through, what with the extravagant architecture and multitude of shops near by, but his housing was far, and up in the hills, so every walk to and from was a horrible trip with ups and downs and bumps and curves. That was probably another reason why he spent so much time at school, other than being insanely wrapped up in the debate club and his other studies- but mostly the debate club. 

It was fresh in the morning and so slick iciness was everywhere, making the uphill battle to school all the more daunting. He shoved his hands into his coat pockets, trudging through with dishonorable hisses and curses. His bangs were now getting whipped up with the storm and smacking him like cold knives. Snuggling deeper into the green nest he had made around his head, Hamilton tried to lose his mind elsewhere- most likely to the traditional Saturday free-for-all debate happening this lunch. He thought about this while trying not to slip too horribly on the icy trail. 

  
  


______________

  
  


Alexander, about thirty minutes later, found himself safely yet sorely standing in the library, grimacing grumpily at the murmuring printer as it ate up and spit out sheets. He tried none-too-discreetly to rub at his poor ass which he’d landed on pretty hard once he’d rushed for the door and slammed into it- and right as another, pretty blonde lady had been exiting, too. She’d laughed like a hyena and tried to help him, but he’d only been successful in almost taking her down with him. Soon he’d waved her off with nervous, embarrassed and pained chuckles. She’d smiled at him like fourth of July and walked off like there wasn’t the slightest hint of snow and mud sludge blocking her way which Hamilton had been so pained over for the last half an hour. 

The usual elder librarian was giving him looks again. It was because he used up so much paper. So much so that he’d become famous around here- or at least, held famous for it by this one very bitter old woman who was the only one Hamilton ever thought he saw working here. 

Hamilton, in a particularly bad mood, couldn’t help but shoot her his own, uncaring look. She seemed quite shocked and agitated by his returned assault, and puckering her lips before shoving her face back in her book. 

For awhile, only the silent, sort of pleasant racket of the printer was heard. Hamilton sighed, knowing he’d be quite irritable today, and today of _ all _ days. 

Sighing again, he almost jumped when a soft tap was heard off to the left of him. Startled, he turned, finally noticing that actually he and Mrs. Grumpy weren’t the only residents of the library- There sat a younger boy, maybe a freshman, who smiled apologetically as he reached down to grab his pen which had clapped on the floor. He returned back to his paper hastily. 

And that, like a triggering event, suddenly made Alex once again hyper aware once again- a self conscious weariness taking over. The email. Never had he ever thought he’d been being watched, and definitely not in _ that _ way. His daily routine suddenly had been put under a microscope. He’d been so caught up in his own life he hadn’t even bared a passing thought to the idea that any observer’s notice of him really mattered. Should he switch it up? That’d be quite a rash kinda thing to do, though. Maybe he was over-thinking it, like he did a lot of things. He should just act like normal. He didn't even know if whoever this was was serious or not.

Feeling like suddenly everyone was watching, Alex stood up right and waited eagerly for the last of his papers. Once the last paper fell, still warm from the machine, Hamilton ripped it off and into the stack before the ink could properly dry and hurriedly lifted the stack to his chest. Exiting out of the room, Alex quickly deposited the exact amount of cash for the paper use onto the counter for the lady, still nosed into her book. She didn’t even look up; He  _ always _ paid the right amount. 

It was seven-something, so he still had time now to laze about; He’d planned to spend the next few hours studying in the library, but his sudden shift in attitude made him want to do something else. He could always review over everything again- get some coffee. Maybe even breakfast, if he had the spare cash on him (he didn’t).

As he left a throng of also early students came bustling in as well. He grinned silently to himself; he was always good at predicting the traffic. His inner smugness faded, however, as unlike before he actually caught eyes with a few of the passing students, like some unannounced disguised observer may reveal themselves. 

Hamilton scolded himself silently (and maybe a bit audibly because one of the girls holding the door for him gave him an odd look). He was  _ definitely _ overreacting.

 

______________

  
  


Coffee was good, Hamilton decreed to himself, lounging over on the bench and sipping leisurely at his black, five-sugared morning joe. Previous anxieties had soon left him after he’d got his hands on a warm substance and dived into his research. Nothing like the discussion of gun control could put him so much at ease. 

His steep nose-dive into his mind and usual demeanor left him, however, when the familiar crowding of three certain sisters took him away from the paper. 

“Alexander!”

He groaned back in acknowledgment, eyes glued to the page. 

“Well good morning to you too, Sunshine,” Angelica quipped. She tugged the paper the young man was trying to quickly scan, scoffing at his resounding hum of dislike, reaching after the lost possession previously dominating his every thought. “Y’know, it’s pretty rude to-”

“Says you-” Hamilton counters, reaching to get his paper back. He carefully files it back into the well organized stack and sighs as he looks apologetically over to Eliza, who doesn't seem fazed in the slightest. “Sorry, Eliza. Good morning.” 

She beamed back at him, nodding. “I’m getting breakfast.” 

Angelica, sitting atop the table Hamilton was studying on, gently nudges over to Peggy as well. “You get something too, sister.”

“You’re not eating,” Peggy refutes, crossing her arms. 

“Do as I say, not as I do.” Angelica smirked back, shrugging as Peggy rolled her eyes and went after Eliza.

“Whatever, they put banana slices in the honey nut cheerios anyway.” 

“Y'all are here early,” Hamilton says as soon as the youngest sister had left, chasing after her precious cereal while Eliza undoubtedly was going all hands on deck; fruit, bagel, orange juice and all. 

Angelica pauses in smiling after her sister as she re-focuses on Alex, raising a questioning yet amused brow. “It’s ten.” 

“Oh,” he whispers, brow slightly creasing. Time passed by quickly when he really got into a paper. No harm done, he figured, looking back down to the page he was previously reading. 

Angelica, however, was having none of that, and quickly started up a conversation to put off Hamilton from his business- Perhaps she was in a talkative mood today, because usually she just left him as he be.

“You put your hair up today,” she says, scanning the disheveled bunch atop his head. 

Hamilton tenses. Was it really so noticeable?

She smiles a bit after examining it. “It’s cute, the way you do it. It’s got that causal, I-don’t-give-two-shits feel about it.” 

He then feels quite embarrassed and warm in the face. Angelica laughs at his petrified look. 

“Where did you get the hair-band, anyway? You are banned of ever borrowing another one from me again, after all. And I’m like, one of your only four friends you have in this world?” she comments, leaning back. 

Hamilton scowls, simply naming, “John.” 

Her eyes widen in understanding, nodding before she pauses. “You have permission to take that?” she asks, an amused curl to her voice.

Alex simply replies, “He won't notice.”   

“Whatever, dude.”

They carried on light conversation until Peggy and Eliza arrived back. Eliza, of course, sporting all the furnishes, but today with a muffin instead of a bagel. Usually by this point Alexander would have bribed her out of a bite (not that it took too much bribing) but he was too into his paper and coffee to bother today. 

Peggy sat down with her cereal, moderately grumpy as she muttered, “Out of bananas today.” Despite this, the girl still crammed in one huge bite of sugary cardboard. 

“You can have a bite of my banana muffin,” Eliza offered. 

Peggy shakes her head. “Nah, it’s not the same,” she says, shoving yet another mouthful in as Eliza shrugs and takes a bite of her own nutritious meal. 

Angelica makes a grab for his coffee but as soon as she sips it winces and weaves back, wiping at her mouth and coughing. “Forgot how much sugar you use,” she spits scornfully, making Hamilton grin at her in triumph.

“You could always go get your own coffee,” Eliza tsks as she sips her juice. 

Angelica only slides down to the bench. Casual talk commenced again- that is, until Hamilton ended up telling all three of the Schuylers about the email. Though he’d originally planned on just telling Angelica, but because they all happened to be there Hamilton thought, why not? It wasn’t like it was a big deal anyway, he tried to reason with himself as all three girls read the email from his phone. 

“Well,” Angelica says as her eyes dart back up from the screen. “That’s kinda creepy.” 

“Probably fake,” Peggy comments afterwards, way less interested and going back to her cereal. Angelica nods along in agreement, but Eliza, grabbing the phone which was previously in Angelica’s hands, looks like she might protest to her sister’s former sentiments.

Hamilton laughs, relieved yet a little disappointed at the reaction. “I’m glad you all have so much faith in me,” he joked half-heartedly, leaning back to lay on his arm. He didn’t mean to get so caught up in the email- but he had and now he was facing the emptiness of the anticipation the message originally filled.

Peggy looks up at this, and despite the joking manner of his words actually looks a little guilty. “It’s not that- It's just…” she mouths at the spoon in her mouth a bit. “No one sends secret admirer notes anymore, y'know?” 

“Yeah, I get it…” Hamilton responds, still a little sad inside. Why’d he always set his expectations up too high? Hope always got the better of him, and he felt quite ashamed that he could be so disappointed by something as silly and frivolous as a fake love confession.

“It seems quite detailed though,” Eliza says, looking at the phone once more before handing it back to him. “She must already know you.” 

Hamilton’s heart skips a beat a bit. Leave it to Eliza to always tell him what he needs to hear. So it  _ wasn’t  _ just him who’d noticed-  

“How are you so sure it’s a girl?” Angelica inquires, leaning her chin on her hand. Eliza and Peggy looked at her quizzically. Angelica, however, doesn’t seem to be fazed by her former interjection, and Eliza seemed to not have even noticed she’d used a specific pronoun at all. When the table continued to look at the eldest sister, however, she finally admonished, “I mean, girls aren't usually the ones who send the love letters, right?” 

Hamilton unwillingly tenses. Angelica was the only one who knew about his slight ‘preference’, and he preferred for it to stay that way. He looked suspiciously at her, trying to get a clue of what she was getting at, but she pretended not to notice.

Eliza seems blasted by the idea, cutting in with extreme vigor and blushing, “Not-Not true!”

Alex slightly relaxes at this, smiling a bit as Eliza grumbles something under her breath and stabs her grapes. Figures it was probably Eliza who’d sent some form or another of a love confession. She was shy and yet a romantic like that.

Peggy seemed only disconcerted by the whole thing, finally finishing her meal after guzzling the slightly tinted leftover milk. “You could always just respond back,” she reasons, the other sisters are quick to nod along approvingly.

“Yeah, I can't wait for the next update to Ham’s secret little admirer,” Angelica teases, smiling and winking over at the man in question, who only looks back disapprovingly.

“Of course, and you have to tell us everything right away-” Eliza chimes in, quite excited with the idea of new gossip.

Hamilton was quick to ruin the fun, however. “No, I don't think so.”

“What? Why not?” Eliza looks over at him, and for a moment he feels almost guilty after seeing her wilt so quickly. The other two seem just as displeased.

Better nip it in the bud, then. “I don't want to take this any further than it needs to.” 

The sisters, rather than protest, look knowingly at another. Hamilton is quite uneased by their seemingly sad, understanding looks. What did they catch that he didn’t? Hamilton never liked being outside the circle.

Angelica inquires softly, frowning a bit, “Alexander, don't you want to know?” 

Well of  _ course _ he wants to know... Or, then again, not at all. I suppose, if he was being truly honest with himself, he was a bit afraid to know. Because despite all his inner warnings, Hamilton still couldn’t help the thrill of excitement the email had brought him. He wasn’t exactly confident- at least in the love field, anyways, and the letter had awakened a spark of hope in him he didn’t want to mess with. He couldn’t look further into the letter, because if he did and his suspicions ended up to be true, Alexander didn’t think he could quite take the idea that the words he’d spent all night rolling over in his head had turned out to be falsehoods. That really he was just as undesirable as he felt. The humiliation would be too devastating.

The girls stared at him expectantly, before finally Peggy broke, crossing her arms commandingly. “Well it doesn't matter ‘cause I'm too curious now! You better email her-him- _ whatever _ back, ok?” With that she grabbed hold of her tray holding the solitary bowl and headed to the cafeteria’s trash to dispose of it. 

Eliza seemed just as taken with this idea, smiling and also taking her tray over. “This is just like something from a TV show!” she commented excitedly to Peggy, said girl nodding as they began bickering to one another.

Angelica still stares unwaveringly over at Hamilton, however, and it really offsets him. 

“You do have to respond back, y’know that right?” she says, surprisingly serious in her command. 

Hamilton hums, mind elsewhere.

  
  


______________

  
  


Hamilton ended up making it into the lecture hall at a surprisingly unremarkable time. Usually he had some great tale of why he was so late or some horror story of “Oh yeah I actually just fell asleep in the room last time so I just figured I’d chill in here until next meeting” but today he was a good thirty minutes early, the required minimum time the defense and offense teams had to be present to prepare. Each team was basically just the main offender/defender, and then a right-hand man to step in for the main if they needed it. 

Sure enough, as Hamilton walked through, Jefferson, Aaron Burr, and James Madison had already shown up. Jefferson  _ always  _ picked Madison to be his right hand. 

Burr was sitting, face as impassive as usual, reading a book. He glanced up when Hamilton entered, and not a moment later looked back down. Aaron was his second hand- Not that they were actually a team or anything; It was just Hamilton wanted to work alone and Burr needed the hours of service for whatever higher honor he was going for this year. Hamilton wasn’t entirely sure why he had even shown up for early prep; It wasn’t like Hamilton would get on to him or tell Washington. In fact, Hamilton would probably get onto him less if he  _ weren’t _ here. 

“Jefferson.” It was the first thing that came out of his mouth. Hell, the man could’ve not even been in the room (though it was highly unlikely) and Alexander still would’ve uttered the name out of sheer impulse. 

“Hamilton.” Jefferson was smiling, standing and stepping up a bit too close for comfort as Hamilton passed by, satchel swung over his shoulder and papers making his arms go weak. The tall man stayed standing though, as if Alex wasn't blatantly going straight for his seat. 

“And I’m James, by the way, thanks,” said James, rather annoyed from his seat across from Burr and Hamilton. 

Jefferson turned back to Madison, amused and finally sitting, though only so on the raised counter top. The lecture hall was traditional and also the smallest in the college, sporting only twenty rows of elevated stairs, built in stools dug along every one, including also the long counter work space. A podium was at the bottom level, framed by the semi circle, screen and chalk board ready for use right behind it on a flat wall. The colors were pretty nice- a set light tan for the walls and then green for the chairs, carpet, and chalkboard. Hamilton especially liked the carpet, because while most modern architecture of the school had turned everything into reflective tile, the carpet in this room prevented echoes of their voices bouncing off the walls, and they already tended to be loud. It was a welcoming, calming atmosphere for Hamilton, and also subject to some of his fondest memories. 

“You dropped something.”

Hamilton turned to see Jefferson was no longer leaned up whispering probably some obscenity to Madison, and instead holding up a paper. Alex’s jaw locked, biting his lip as untrustful eyes eyed Jefferson’s keen ones. He reached out, practicing one arm with all the other papers, and grabbed onto the now newly returned one. When he tried to tug away, however, the paper didn’t nudge. Hamilton looked up suspiciously, brow cocked and gaining instant eye-lock with the other’s dark pupils.

“Well, this is familiar. Remember? Three years ago? It was both of our first steps into this very room, actually,” the other incited, smiling. He was always smiling. 

Alexander only caught on after an awkward blank stare of about ten seconds. He then only rolled his eyes, trying not to let it off how vividly he  _ did _ remember their first acquaintance. Jefferson seemed satisfied with this reaction though, because when Hamilton tugged again he relented and gave him the page. Hamilton then finally settled to his chosen destination, a seat near but one row off Aaron’s.

But Jefferson, apparently, wasn’t done, “Man, I remember those days. You were so happy back then- all eager to shake my hand. What ever could have happened to you? Also, where’s my thanks?”

Alexander only cocked another brow at the man. “You planned that. You definitely planned that and I don’t know what you’re up to but I’m onto you,” he says, referring to the paper drop. 

Jefferson humed, shaking his head in mock-dismay. “And with so little faith in me!”

Hamilton looked down at the retrieved paper, and, sure enough, printed on it was  _ “Harry Styles called, he wants his hair back” _ and along with it a crudely drawn stick figure with an obnoxious squiggle ball atop his head, which he guessed was supposed to be him. On cue Madison began a dubious amount of giggling, making Alex’s eye twitch just slightly. 

How they had even known he was wearing a man-bun today, and ultimately had enough time to devise a scheme and execute it was beyond him. Obviously, they had nothing much else to do with their lives if they had this much motivation to invade his.  

“And do I not have a reason to?” Alexander asked in a snide voice.

“Got a point there,” Jefferson relented, and if there were ever a time for a mocking, bashful little bow it was now.  

Hamilton didn’t have the mental drive to humor the two men, and so he simply scrunched up the paper into a ball, throwing it, none-too-discreetly aiming for Madison’s head. The irritated man-bun adorned student humphed onto his stool, beginning to organize the papers. There was peaceful quiet then, a murmuring among the two best friends and even an occasional exchange between Hamilton and Burr. Alex was definitely more set on revising, however. That is, until he suddenly felt that surreal knowing all along his body that eyes were on him. Looking up, a bit confused at first, he finally caught eyes with the one directly across from him, Jefferson’s. James seemed to actually be working on something school related, so the tall adversary was now unoccupied. And apparently found great joy in staring at him.  

“ _ What. _ ”

“Nothing.” He averted his eyes, like he hadn’t been looking in the first place.

How long exactly had everyone been watching without him noticing it? 

“It’s just…” Hamilton looked back up again, as if daring the man to continue. Jefferson shook his head, staring warily at Alex’s hands holding the files he’d now organized perfectly. “Don’t tell me you’re going over  _ all that _ .”  

Despite how Hamilton was obviously in the right, and Jefferson was obviously the one who’d been sticking his nose into business he shouldn’t, the notice and sudden attention to his usual overwhelming amount of paperwork made Hamilton feel just a bit embarrassed. 

It was then Aaron Burr seemed to take notice, glancing over to Alex’s side. He huffed, leaning back after taking in the site. “He’s right, y'know. We don’t want another repeat of your first debate.”Alex was surely red now from the reminder, casting a stern look at Burr which said man didn’t notice. 

Tightening his jaw, Alexander replied, “For your information, some of this is for other classes.” Jefferson only seemed to share a knowing look with Madison. Alex bristled. “Shouldn’t you be preparing, anyways?”

Jefferson shrugged. “Why would I? Knowing you there’ll probably be some curve ball that will ruin my original plan anyway.” 

Alexander had to admit, that was a bit true. But he didn’t show it, he simply rather resolutely went back to looking at his papers, which he wasn’t reading so much anymore. His mind, instead, wandered off.  How long  _ had _ everyone been watching? Discreetly, Hamilton fussed with the bun, and soon untied it. A wave of relief washed over him as his curls went loose upon his face, making his mind rest just a little more easily. He hadn’t meant to get noticed today. At least not in  _ that _ way- The “man-bun-wow-you-probably-stole-that-hair-band” way. He’d only wanted to change things up. Alex sighs as he tries not to let a frown show too evidently on his face. He was so terribly confusing sometimes, seeking attention and then immediately becoming defensive once he had it. Why was he so terribly indecisive? He flickered his eyes up a bit, no longer able to keep his straining look locked on the paper, only to see Jefferson was still looking at him. What did he even  _ want? _

Before Alex could say anything, however, George Washington entered the room, and as if it were normal protocol everyone stood up and addressed him, while the large, calming man only waved them off with his own pleasantries. Not long strolling after him, a large parade of club members entered, and with a crowding of excitement and infectious chatter, sat in the rows while others hurried to finish up assignments or procrastination on their laptops.

Washington was still on his way to the higher table when he commented in a passing way off to his underclassmen, “Hamilton, where’s this foretold man-bun I’ve been hearing so much about?” the head, George  _ freaking _ Washington, cut in from the words exchanged across the lecture hall from his seat more above than the rest as he set his satchel down, leaning back leisurely. 

“How does  _ everyone _ know?!” Hamilton yells, standing as stiff as a stick from his seat. 

“I was wondering about that-”

“You disappoint me, Alexander.” 

“And here I was thinking we’d start a boy band-” 

“ _ Now _ who’s gonna be the hipster of the group?” 

The entire audience to the conversation was laughing now, adding in indistinguishable teases while Hamilton refuted in high protest. John Adams, Vice President, didn’t seem quite as amused by the noise as Washington did, and so, as he made his way to the table by the President, finally began the essential words of encouragement to settle everyone down for ‘official’ business, which only Washington was able to fully execute.  _ Everyone _ hushed up when Washington spoke. 

Despite everyone in the room being mostly accustomed to the rules of these casual debates held by the Debate Club, Washington listed them off anyways.    

The Debate Club was no Debate Team, even though the best segway into such team was through said club. Besides the point, that meant that these fun club debates were definitely different from the usual tournament. Still good practice, though, especially for members aspiring to join the team. 

Hamilton being one of those, in fact. Technically he was on the team, but not as one of the main debaters. He wasn’t even an alternate. Alexander was what most liked to refer to him, in a teasing sort of fashion, as the ‘secretary’ of the team. While also managing the financials for the club, he also managed them for the team. He kind of managed everything, actually. Registered them for tournaments, communicated with the managers of said tournaments for their calls and subject matters and stance, made sure everyone was where they needed to be, had what they needed to get done, and before tournaments scheduled times to meet for discussion over their stance and subject, writing and researching times to formulate their argument (everyone participated in this- It really was a team sort of sport despite that only two of them would actually be on the floor for the real thing), figured out where they were staying during tournaments, and a thousand other things the President needed him to do to lessen the workload. He had ever since his Freshmen year. Of course, they hadn't trusted him at first and his official title was _ Assistant _ to the Manager, but the true Manager of that year was incompetent by Alexander's standards and so of  _ course _ he’d ended up doing everything and the official Manager had dropped out.  

Washington had never failed to let Alexander know how much the team needed him, how important his role was. But it all seemed to pale the day Jefferson had looked at him with that shit-eating, ‘I’m-better-than-you’ look when he’d been given the position as the second chair- One of the main two that spoke at every tournament. Washington was the other one, unsurprisingly. The position had opened after John Adams had preferred to alternate after last year. A stoked fire had lain within Hamilton’s soul ever since. 

This was all off subject though. Debates for the club, in contrast to that of the team’s, were informal, stuck much less to the guidelines of respected rule, and were a lot more fun. One of these differences was it was a lot shorter; While for tournaments teams would get as long as a month in advance to plan and construct their plan, in the club it was one week. The debates themselves were only three to six minutes of an opening argument and then a closing. At competitions there was the original argument (spoken by first chair), then the rebuttal (spoken by second chair), then closing (first chair again), and only in the rebuttal could the opposite team interject while in the club interjection was just a part of the fun.  Anyone could debate, and usually it was just over who wanted to and who Washington thought deserved it. The subject matter was also picked by the President and Vice President, sometimes left open to popular demand. In competition the two competing sides were called proposition and opposition, but in the club they were simply offense and defense. Proposition always went first during formal competition as well, but in the club it was a coin toss. 

Said toss was occurring now. Washington looked back down at the coin which had previously been effortlessly tossed (Hamilton always sent it off into some unknown crevice never ventured by mankind before), everyone waiting. He looked up, bushy brows untelling of his emotions, his calm exterior as a Judge now in place. “Offense.” 

Hamilton inwardly groaned. Though he was fine with going first, he did tend to warm up better for an argument when his opponent’s first declaration riled him up first. He ran with his passionate emotions a good third of the time, which was easier when he had something to defend. 

“The subject on the table… Hamilton for gun prevention laws, Jefferson the freedom to bare arms. You may start whenever you’re ready, Hamilton.” 

He didn’t wait a second, picking up the pile of his checkpoints and notes for reference. He was doing an unusual amount of sourcing for this one and would need all his facts in line. He started, not missing a beat as he stood confidently and matter-of-factly at the podium, like he’d been doing it his whole life. 

His argument, unlike the majority of his former performances, was actually heavily statistically based. He usually found more enthusiasm in the philosophical what-ifs, but when he’d started on a little bit of research for the topic at hand, he found some numbers he couldn’t resist using. He’d originally only wanted to back up his assumption that one was more likely to have an accident in the home with a gun around than actually use it for defense. Which was true. What he hadn’t expected to find was the observation from multiple sources showing that even in a defense-situation, bringing out a gun into a fight out of defense actually lead to more mortality cases than ones where a gun wasn’t brought in. After all, no one robs a home actually intending to kill anyone. Guns were more for show, an intimidation factor. It was when both parties had out a gun that people grew finicky with the trigger. 

This all Hamilton said, in all the more detail, not speaking a word passed his minute mark. There was polite nods and claps, some even leaning over to one another and whispering about how smooth it had surprisingly went. Some even looked disappointed that the lecture hall wasn’t on fire yet.

Alexander sat, smug with his proposition. 

He think he set up a pretty firm wall of defense. Of course, these opening statements, especially again in the tournament world, were meant to be a set up for their argument previously planned, and then the rebuttal a time to adopt and defend against the opposite team. But informal, free-for-all never went like that. It was just straight up opposition onto opposition. Jefferson hadn’t interrupted him, though. Which could be a bad or good sign. It would take some major manipulation for Jefferson to de-bunk straight up facts, yet knowing him… 

“Jefferson,” Washington said simply. 

Hamilton stared down the man now rising, who moved with distinct less eagerness to consume the spotlight, and yet that only added to the professionalism he gave off. That’s what a lot of them said. Jefferson was a  _ professional _ \- A gifted  _ player. _

“Hamilton, as some of you may know, is a remarkable young man,” he begins, and Alexander has to seriously bite down on his tongue. What kind of game was he playing at? Was this some personal attack? It didn’t help that the man had said it so easily- It really ticked Alex off. “Really great statistics have been brought up by him. A few months ago, in fact, towards the start of the year he said something particularly interesting…” Thomas was making a superficial look of contemplation, and the moment of quick beat silence in which Jefferson used to slide off the platform allowed Hamilton a moment to cut in. 

“Is this really on topic-?” 

Washington, as if anticipating this, sent him an already exasperated glare towards him. “Just give him a few sentences to work with, Hamilton.” 

The stern remark made Alexander cut short in his already speedy mind trying to catch up to whatever tactic Thomas was aiming for, before realizing, and cheeks staining with shame as he did, that Jefferson was hardly one statement in and he was, he’d admit, a bit quick coming in his defense already. Nearly everyone chuckled just a bit, and even more invigorating, Jefferson, in his paused regal form, passed a sideways smirk his way. He then continued as though he’d never been interrupted. 

“Thank you, President Washington.” The calmness of his tone made Alex want to break something. “As I was saying, Hamilton had mentioned that Sweden, out of all the nations, has the most reported rape cases.” He turns fully back to the lecture hall’s residents, easy smile never leaving. “This, as I’m sure most of you are thinking as well, is a bit shocking of a statistic. I was on the opposite team, so of course I asked for his references. Despite doubt, however, it was credible.” 

Looking around, Hamilton noticed the slightly puzzled looks everyone was sporting. Alexander vaguely remembered this argument- It was in the beginning of the year so he’d had quite a few, all of which blurring together. Even the ones with Jefferson, always the most heated of the bunch, he had a hard time remembering.    

“It was then he made a fascinating point. Though Sweden has the highest report of rape cases, one cannot overlook the most highly under appreciated word in the sentence;  _ reported _ . This statistic does not say that Sweden has more sexual assaulters in their country, but the most victims willing to come forward and report it.” 

This garnered an appreciative, contemplative hum from many of the participants, making Hamilton want to remind them exactly who was the one who’d originated this point Jefferson was trying to make.

Leave it to Washington, however, to not get swept away into whatever Jefferson was trying to pull. “If your point is to establish how competent your opponent is, you’ve succeeded. Not too sure if that’s the point of this argument, though.” Hamilton could practically cheer with joy, resisting the urge to high-five the President even when he knew George would reject it with a raised bushy brow. 

The audience chuckles at this as well, and Alexander notices smugly Jefferson’s telltale sign of slight discouragement- the small bob of his adams apple. Jefferson was extremely good at performing, but Alex knew better. Hamilton wasn't sure when he’d noticed this little trait, but it was probably from watching his lifelong rival religiously, going and surveying him at any debate even remotely tied to him. What can he say? He’s kind of obsessive. It was worth it if he could read Jefferson like the palm of his hand, anyways. Who knew when it would come in handy. Hamilton had to prevent an audible chuckle at the thought. The answer was  _ always _ .   

Jefferson eased up his arms as if to calm the fire starting up in the room, laughing to ease off the small burn. “Stick with me, I’ve got a point.” He crossed over, closer to Hamilton now. “Now not to sway my argument into something more personal, because it’s all in the name of credibility, but back in Virginia, a southern state, I remind you, where I was born and raised-”

“Not seeing how bringing your obvious bias into the argument is helping, but…” Hamilton couldn’t help it. He had to. He knew he already had the President on his side and shouldn’t push it but he couldn’t help it- He  _ needed _ to keep an edge over the game. 

“I believe it is my turn, pipsqueak.” Jefferson hadn’t even blinked out of his former, easygoing smile, but alighted in the room was an even bigger laugh in which Alexander's eyes practically bulged. 

“You-” he began, standing, and seemed ready to rise with something a bit more distasteful on his tongue but locked his jaw as Washington’s voice cut off all nerves making his body move in one fatal swoop. 

“This is a debate, gentlemen. Not a comedy club. And definitely not a boxing match. Jefferson,” he sent a warning look, “continue.” 

Alexander eased down, not dropping eye contact with the afro-haired man above him, who had also refused to move his eyes from anywhere else. 

“Back in Virginia,” Thomas continues, finally dropping Hamilton’s eyes which remained locked, “Disputes where fellows brought out their guns were settled the moment they cocked the shotgun. No altercation occurred and so nothing was  _ reported. _ Just like your own argument on Swedish rape accounts, Hamilton.” Hamilton sat moodily, dribbling his fingers on the desk, which Jefferson caught onto and seemed to make him grin wider. Hamilton stopped self consciously. “You said it yourself; the key word’s reported. Could very well be that the reason the only gun altercations being recorded are the ones that’ve gone south because most of the nonviolent ones shut the problem up so well that nothing even had to be reported.”

The returned defense washed over Hamilton as one clear thought, and he found himself reigned back. It hadn't been the response he was expecting.  

“On that note, I would kindly suggest to not have your argument lay on such a rickety thing as statistics. Which clearly, on a fundamental scale, is a flawed system.” 

A burning hot pride made Hamilton’s previous cool consideration evaporate like Jefferson’s very afro was the sun, hanging over him like a dreaded famine. 

He simply blurted out the first thing that came to his head. 

“Well your afro’s disproportionate to your head.”

If anything, the sheer absurdity of the comment was what conjured the mass hysteria it caused. Nearly everyone was howling now, laughing their asses off at the lack of sanity. It was sheer shit-throwing nonsense, but that was exactly why most of them were here anyways.   

Of course, Jefferson couldn't help his own share of poo-slinging because without a moment's hesitation he hit back, “At least I don't wear man-buns.”

“Listen you piece of shit-”

The members own flurry of insight streamed in after this, drowning out the talking-to Hamilton had in for Jefferson. 

“He  _ didn’t _ -”

“You have to admit, it is a rather exuberant hairdo-”

“I’d kill for either, really.”

“Good God, guys…”

It now appeared Benjamin Franklin was openly calling for a fist fight.  

“Alright! That’s enough of this. Debate over.” Washington was standing, calling all attention to him after John Adams was decidedly checked out for the evening.  

Eventually they managed to convince Washington that not all was lost, and they could handle getting out their closing statements, a futile affair which blew right over everyone’s heads anyways after the excitement before. At these informal debates there was no win or loss formally decided, rather a shadow of shame or another reason to hold your head up high because you  _ totally _ owned them. Usually everyone could mutually feel and agree at whom had had the best argument without even saying it, but today Hamilton felt it wasn't so black and white. Not that Hamilton cared too much though, which he definitely usually did, especially when the case of who’d won was up for debate. As they left, infesting whispers and speculation was rife within every cuddle of men and women, but Alexander felt no pull to join them. He was just having a bad day is all. 

He got his things, planning on turning in a few things, running by a few Professors, maybe write a bit more, study until work called him in. As he adjusted the papers in his arms, a few passing students patted him on the back, Washington being a notable one stating, “All things said and done I think you did very well today, my boy. I saw a different style from you today.”

Hamilton had laughed at that. “What, throwing the entire room into chaos with some inapplicable comment isn’t my usual style?” 

Washington laughed as well. “Well, up until then.” His hand on Alex’s shoulder gave one last rub before he left for the door where Hamilton could spot a pretty blonde women waiting with a baiting smile. His girlfriend. What was her name again…?

As Hamilton’s mind wandered he finally righted up to leave, his eyes rising from his inner bubble- only to see Thomas _ freaking _ Jefferson, once again looking off towards him.

“Seeking some attention I’m getting, Jefferson?” Alexander asks, smirking and attempting to lean up against the counter like Jefferson. But he only looked lame while Thomas looked cool. 

Jefferson smiled in response, sat up and walked over to the other man in the room, making Hamilton stiffen and almost back away if he wasn’t already back to back with the counter. The man simply stretched out a hand. 

“Good fight today, Hamilton.” 

There was a bit of shock at the act of sportsmanship. Well, altogether it wasn’t  _ too _ surprising. They’d done it before; Jefferson was always honorable like that. But for some reason, perhaps it was because they were the only ones in the room and so it wasn’t like Hamilton could confuse it for just some public image the man was trying to keep up, he was stunned by the hand.

He’d hesitated too long. Innerly cursing himself, Hamilton tried to make up for it by tipping his head up, making firm eye contact, and then confidently throwing his hand into the embrace of the other. Two ups and downs, and he released the grip. 

“Good fight, Jefferson,” Hamilton said back, then left. 

  
  


______________

  
  


It was one am. Hamilton groaned, throwing his feet in through the door, now caked in sludge. He clambered to the ground, letting out small hisses as he kicked off his boots, his feet and hands stinging from the drastic temperature change from outside to dorm room. He fiddled around with his clothing, his limbs so raw it was hard to feel and thus undress. He hung up the coat quickly and then threw everything else wherever. He was too damn tired to care. Stumbling into the main room, Hamilton noticed John was there in bed asleep. Like he’d never even moved since Alexander had left. 

He sighed. Alex really ought to arrange for some time for them to hang out- With the whole gang, actually. They could go drinking or something. He hadn't talked with his best friend in so long. Maybe that was what he needed to cheer up this dark mood he’d gone under? Maybe rant to him about the email or about Jefferson. 

It was then his phone buzzed. Hamilton fished for the device which had been taken along for the ride to the floor given it was in his pants pocket.

_ Hey, have you emailed them back yet? _

It was Angelica.

_ no. too tired. bye. _

He struggled to fully cover his head in the sweater he’d just pulled on. The phone buzzed. 

_ You have to email them back.  _

Hamilton sighed. He was comfy now. He didn’t want to do anything tomorrow, he decided. Another insistent buzz. 

_ Boy. You are emailing them right now.  _

Hamilton decidedly ignored the text, climbing up the bunk to cradle into his bed. Another buzz.

_ Alex.  _

And they called  _ him _ stubborn? Another vibration. 

_ You will email them and you will find out if it’s a boy or a girl so you don’t go breaking some poor girl’s heart.  _

Alexander stared at the screen then. Well Angelica sounded like she was acting on some sort of personal vendetta. 

_ is this about you or me?  _ He responded. He shouldn't have. Should just leave the whole thing alone until it rots and dies. 

Angelica didn’t need to bring it up for Alex to start thinking about this email again, his mind had been trailing back to it all day. Who it could be, did he know them, could they be right by him right now and he hadn't even noticed, did they think he was cute with his bun today because no one else did and they better be fucking grateful for it because he went through hell and back wearing that shit and-  

Hamilton groaned, slapping his face into the pillow. Angelica still hadn’t responded. He was much more awake now. 

A short burst of anger went through him. How _ dare _ this secret admirer do this to him? Now he was wide awake for the second time because of that damned message. The stubbornness in his nature flared. Who did they think they were, teasing him like this? He sat up. Did they think he wouldn’t catch them? It wasn’t in Hamilton’s spirit to not know about something he was curious about, and it frustrated him it’d taken until now for him to realize this. He was no coward afraid of the consequences- Of honesty’s harsh truths. If you poked him, he’d poke right back. He _ would _ find the sender, or senders. He’d craft an email that would slowly draw out each and everyone of this 3TruVirjinian3’s secrets. He’d spent many of his years in youth writing correspondence, masterfully weaving words and rhythm as a clerk. He could do this. He  _ would _ do this.

He reopened his phone. 

_ I’m emailing them. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did you know Thomas Jefferson was 14 years older than Alexander Hamilton? And Hamilton was actually a bit of playboy? Welp, not in this fic they’re not. Thanks for reading!


	3. Please Call Me Tru

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ham gets the public involved, James is a good friend, and Thomas gets a shoe in.

_Virjinian,_

_First of all, what’s with the username? Second of all, I’ll let you know that I am not one to fool around, and I expect you to be honest about whom you are and if these feelings are legitimate, because if they were you would tell me who you are, obviously. Third of all, by ‘tell me who you are’ I do not mean send cryptic messages of anonymous love. You have until Monday._

_A.Ham_

See to it that Alexander Hamilton would be so brash as to treat a love letter like some sort of bomb threat. It didn’t really surprise him, and in fact made him laugh somewhat out loud. That was _so_ Hamilton.

What he hadn’t expected was a response at all, but now that he had it he wasn’t sure what to do with it. He wasn’t meant to have sent it in the first place, and so the first thing that popped into his head was; _No, don’t let this get any further._ But then he hesitated. He read the email over and over and laughed at its contents. Secretly, hadn’t he always meant to send it? Now because the boulder had finally tipped off the hill, he couldn’t look away and the destruction it may cause only thrilled him. It was a bit like starting some homework, the hardest step was just starting while the actual process went like a breeze.

What he had to keep in mind was Hamilton doesn’t know who he is, and he cannot let up any details.

Thomas stared down at the glowing screen, almost wincing. Would he be able to stop himself?

_A.Hamster,_

_First of all, boy you’re demanding. Haven’t even taken me out to dinner yet and we’re already negotiating. I think a few correspondences would suffice a bit more before you utterly out me, or do whatever it seems you’re threatening to do. You see I hadn't meant to send that email. Not that it wasn’t a happy mistake, because I didn’t think you’d actually respond. My mind hadn’t quite gotten off of “Oh my God I just sent that.” Now just because I hadn't meant to send the email doesn’t mean I hadn’t meant what I sent. All it means is I sent you a genuine love letter with my most embarrassing email address._

_PS: Your man-bun was adorable._

Thomas paused, debating on whether he should let up on the next thing that popped into his mind.

_PSPS: Sorry the teasing got out of hand. Apparently after Thomas Jefferson spread the news there was a bit of a scandal. Even though it was all jokes, don’t let it get to you. They’re just jealous their man-buns aren’t as adorable as your man-bun. Thomas Jefferson cant even put his hair into a man-bun his hair is so big._

He was letting on too much of his identity, and yet also discrediting his identity as well. He then typed the address, laughing a bit nervously as he did.

_To Yours Truly, Please-don’t-call-me-Vijinian-just-Tru-because-I-really-hadn’t-meant-to-send-the-email-on-that-account-please-the-humiliation-is-unbearable._

  


________________

  


Hamilton stared down at the email, and after giggling girlishly at the last parts of the email, immediately began a decisive clockwork in his head piecing everything into its large, puzzle artwork.

The let on that it was Thomas Jefferson that had spread the news of his bun didn’t surprise him. And before he could trail hours upon hours of wrath-filled Jefferson rants, he focused back on the important things. This email sender had to be within some social group tied to Jefferson. The first thing that popped into mind was the Debate Club, and yet then again Hamilton knew he was involved in French Club as well. Debate was his major focus though. Yet then again, there would be nothing stopping Jefferson, Alexander imagined, from running across campus with fliers screaming “Breaking news! Alexander Hamilton has a man-bun. I repeat! Alexander Hamilton has a man-bun!”

He’d have to dig further. Maybe ask Jefferson himself and hope he wasn’t so hell bent on screwing Hamilton over that he’d actually help him. Afterall, Alex wasn’t still entirely sure this was a legit person with real feelings or some prank. He wouldn’t know until he found them, and he was pretty sure he’d peak Jefferson’s own interest enough into knowing whom it could possibly be, and be just as hell bent on finding this secret entity that could possibly have any sort of romantic feelings toward _Alexander Hamilton._ The sight of it was like that of a mythical creature.

Hamilton smirked.

Despite the new knowledge, this sender had not gone through with his demands. He had warned him, they had not complied, and now he would make sure it was the whole school’s business.

  


______________

  


**STUDENTS OF UNI!**

**HAVE YOU SEEN THIS EMAIL?**

From: 3TruVirjinian3@postalE.com

_Alexander,_

_I love your eyes. I love the way you smile when you're excited, and I wish you'd smile more often. Lord, I love your hair (you should wear it up more often), and the way you always brush it back unconsciously when you get really into something you’re working on. I love how passionate you are; I love how you spread like a wildfire to everyone you talk to. I love that you stand for a cause- always. I love how every morning you're at the printer juggling five stacks of papers and a coffee. I love how you're always either extremely late or unbelievably early. I love how over the top and persistent you are. I love how you always have something to say, and when you're not saying anything, drumming your fingers like you are physically unable to stay still for once in your life. I love your ambition- I love how you're always fighting, even when you don't need to. I love how loyal you are to your friends. I love how angry you get about everything. I love how you infuriate me and challenge me. I love how you make me a better person. I love how you inspire me._

_It's been three years and I'm still stuck on you._

**IF YOU HAVE ANY INFORMATION ON THIS SENDER, PLEASE CONTACT THE DEBATE CLUB IN LECTURE ROOM G108.**

**REWARD: 15 PIECES OF SUGAR FREE COBALT ...A COOLING PEPPERMINT 5 GUM**

Thomas’s heart dropped like a stone into a pond.

Hamilton. Only _mother fucking_ Hamilton would-

He tried to calm himself, his feet moving at a brisk pace, right to where he usually went on Monday morning, and in fact every morning; the lecture room. Kicking off snow from his boots in the doorway, huffing and shivering off the cold weather, Jefferson didn’t even mind taking off his jacket leisurely and chatting with the reception girl who looked at him expectantly. He managed a quick smile toward her in what he hoped was apology, and she frowned but allowed the soft clicking sound in the door that let him into the building.

It was ok. It was fine. No one knew about the email. _No one-_

James Madison sat there, eyes immediately drawn to his.  

Oh _fuck_.

He stumbled over discreetly.

“James-”

Madison simply lifted the flier, eyebrow cocked.

“ _James-_ ” his voice sound pained, stomach twisting in so many ways. This was the one other person he imagined being hard to tell of his secret, other than Hamilton. It was the one other opinion that mattered far too much.  

“ _Three years_ , Thomas?”

“James, please, don’t tell anyone. _Please-_ ” he muttered out, eyes rapidly mapping out who was in the room and then slipping beside his best friend.

James looked at him, surprising him with a rather concerned scrunch to his brows as he reached out one steady hand onto his shoulder. “Thomas, calm down.”

Jefferson flustered, about to stumble out another protest, but James gave him a look and he conceded, taking one deep breath in and then out. After he was done, “Thomas, I’m not mad.” Jefferson stared at him, unbelieving. “Well, I’m kinda mad.” Thomas let out a choked chuckle, bracing his face into his arms on the desk. “But not for reasons you think.” He looked up, and James stared right back in a confident matter that made Thomas’s heart come to a stop and then beat anew with a newfound respect for his friend all over again. “I’m mad because you didn’t tell me. I’m your best friend; we tell _everything_ to one another. And I’m not saying that as a I-want-to-know-all-your-secrets kinda way… though maybe a little.” They both smirked at that. “I mean that in a you-shouldn’t-have-to-keep-such-strong-feelings-away-from-me-because-I’m-concerned-for-you type of way. A crush for three years? I could’ve helped you, Thomas. I could’ve been there for you. I could’ve been there so _this_ isn’t the way you confess your feelings for Hamilton.”

Thomas meant to say something- something like ‘thank you’ or ‘God you’re the bestest friend ever’, but he really couldn’t speak. His mouth opened but nothing came out. Where would he even start? Probably somewhere where less ears could catch on.

James stared at him knowingly. “How about you start from the beginning? And we take it to some secluded hall?”

Thomas nodded, and the two stood, but not before that tell-tale voice interrupted.

“Jefferson.”

Alexander Hamilton. Jefferson withheld a wince as he turned, Madison defensively at his right shoulder.

“Hamilton.”

Said young man had approached, a smug swagger to his walk as he came forward. He stopped in front of them, eyeing the flier on the counter. “I’m guessing you’ve seen it?”

Cocky little shit. Are you _kidding me?_

“Yes.” James said it for both of them.

“Well, if anyone of you are interested in the reward, I’ve received some new information.” Hamilton’s dark eyes zeroed in on Thomas, making the man’s heart skip five beats in the mere milliseconds of silence it took Hamilton to say his next proposal. “Who was it you spread the news to about my hairdo Saturday?”

Thomas starred. So he was investigating in on the bits he’d left for Alex to follow. His mind scattered, eyeing over to James who was giving him a masked look, like he had any idea what the hell was going on.

On one hand, Thomas wanted to distance himself in any way possible from investigation. On the other, Hamilton, without even realizing it, just gave him some control into where and how this investigation was to go down. He could puppeteer the seeking of his identity, pull stops where he needed to and enforce dead ends. Hamilton was giving him control of the matter, something he’d lost the moment he’d accidentally clicked send.

“What’s in it for me?” he asks, faking his consideration.

Hamilton looked unamused, crossing his arms. “I told you. 5 gum.”

“Well,” he commented leisurely, “it _is_ fifteen pieces,” Thomas said, making eye contact with Madison who was still pretending like he knew what was going on. Thomas reached out his hand, smirk painted on his lips like he’d won a business deal. Hamilton smirked as well, lifting a hand like he’d gotten the better half of the bargain.

They shook on it, both knowing his interest wasn’t about gum.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short chapter, kinda rushed this one. Don't think I really delivered, but I'm feelin' that writers spirit so I'll try to make at least 8 pages next one. Thanks guys!


	4. Exchanges

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More info is coming out on the secret sender's identity, and a plot twist everyone called- Time for some forced bonding!

“Well?” Hamilton asked, crossing his arms as soon as Madison and Jefferson had lead him into an isolated hallway by some deserted stairs. He eyed around him, as though suspicious he was about to be jumped, his shoulders tensed. His eyes landed back on the tallest of the trio. “Who’d you tell?”

Thomas rolled this over in his head, wondering what he should say. The longer he took the more it’d look like he was coming up with something. Before he could rethink it, however, he was uttering the truth, “Debate.” Thomas had to stop himself from wincing. Sure, it was believable, but it was also a very exclusive group and though it had up to thirty members, it was still far too small of a pool to look through. He tacked on, an unsure hum to his voice, “And uh… French, I think?”

Hamilton rose a brow at him, but nodded. “Right. Well, I suppose I’ll start with girls,” Alexander said, turning to move away. Jefferson hesitated, as though to grab the other’s arm, but then realized how quickly that could go down hill.

Before Alex could get any further, however, James spoke up, “What are you planning on doing?”

Jefferson sighed a bit in relief. Leave it to Madison to stay on alert while he was out of his usual astuteness. He needed to get his act together; He’d already fucked up once.  

Alexander, to Jefferson’s surprise, actually stopped and looked back, shrugging. “I don’t know. Ask them?”

“What, you’re just gonna go ahead and request your admirer to reveal themselves?”

Alexander faltered, his eyes twisting into uncertainty for a moment as he bit his lip. He tended to do that; rush off into whatever his first thought was without thinking about the actual destination, or really any plan once he got there. Finally, he seemed quite obviously stuck by Madison’s words and Jefferson almost chuckled as he huffed, quipping back, “And what would _you_ do?”

“I’d email this person some more. Find out more about them. Maybe you can coerce them out, or gather enough evidence so they could never deny it was them,” James said calmly, and both Jefferson and Hamilton seemed displeased with his logical thought process. Hamilton, because this wasn’t a quick and easy solution but undeniably a smart one. Jefferson, because _James what are you thinking giving him smart ideas?_

James only glanced over at him, a knowing, teasing look in his eyes. Thomas faltered back, looking over to Hamilton who was now over his initial pride damage and now considering the advice.

Hamilton sighs, “Right. You two keep an eye out though. Text me with any news.” And with that, he left. Jefferson turned to Madison, about to speak when Hamilton trailed back over, red in the face. “Uh... Where exactly are we?”

“Two lefts and a right.”

Hamilton didn’t even respond, simply walked back off muttering something about why’d they’d even gone out to a secluded hall in the first place.   

Once he was sure Hamilton was gone, Jefferson turned back to Madison. “Great. Now he knows it’s someone in the Debate club-”

“Or French.”

“He won’t think it’s someone from French.”

“Why? The French are romantic.”

Jefferson cocked an eyebrow at that, James smiling innocently. Rolling his eyes, he continued, “He won't think they’re from French because he doesn’t spend any time around people in French other than before with Laf, I think, and the email was too descriptive. It’s obviously someone who’s had access to him, and the best way to do that is through Debate.”

“You think Hamilton’s even thought of that?”

“No. I don’t know. He will at some point, though.”

Madison hums back in agreement.

“Anyways, so now he’s tracked it down to a club of only thirty or so and now he’s gonna start emailing back and-” Jefferson cut off, pain in his voice, fighting back a frustrated growl.

James only stared at him sympathetically. “Isn’t that what you want?”

He looked up, incredulously. “Why would I _want_ that?”

“Well, you like him, right?”

Thomas paused, caught off guard. Damn it, that was happening a lot today. Before he could tramp down the emotions they flew to his face, thinking of Hamilton making his entire face warm up and his lips squirm uncomfortably.

Madison only smirked. Damn him.

“So, this is a chance for you to talk to him. Without the whole three year rival grudge holding you back. See where it goes- talk it out. Plus, better he’s letting you know where his suspicions are going rather than keeping you out of the loop. And anything he’s not sharing through the email he’ll come to us about. We have complete control of the situation. So Thomas.” He reached out a hand, placing it on the other’s shoulder which he’d never even realized had risen up to his ears in anxiousness. “Relax,” James breathed, making eye contact and Jefferson willingly let his clutched chest go.

“Right. Right, you’re right. Got it. It’ll be fine.” Thomas waved off the hand, stuffing his palms into the jacket he was still wearing.

“Thomas?”

He looked back, a kind look on James’s face meeting his. It was then the words actually held root to Thomas. Yes, it was actually fine. For once he let a bit of the relief take hold. This wasn’t just his secret to hold onto anymore, and the other he shared it with he could trust.

“This is a chance I think for you to… Well, not rant or anything, but… be true to Hamilton? I think this is a good thing. Of course, could’ve worked out a lot better if you had just told me from the beginning, but… it’s still good. This could work out, I think. Not that you should rely on this secret admirer guise to build a relationship, because that’s not healthy or stable at all and honestly not too fair to Hamilton either, but it’s a good starting place. Just a way to ease into it. And don’t tell me you’re not gonna try for this and let it fade off because no one just crushes on someone for three years and then 'gets over it'. You’re not gonna be an old man with regrets. Especially the ‘what if’ sort that could’ve been easily avoided. I’m not gonna stand for it when we're old men in rocking chairs and you’re still complaining about this shit.”

Thomas nodded, mind trailing on what he was saying. Him and Hamilton? Actually working out? The idea made him laugh for its ridiculousness and yet his heart still fluttered. Oh boy, that wasn’t hope, was it?

“Anyways, you have a lot of explaining to do. From the top. Go.”    

Thomas groaned, knowing he did.

  


_____________

  


Thomas's middle school email had been swarmed after a certain stubborn midget released his personal contact. He didn’t exactly use it, so it didn’t matter, but it still bothered him, watching as fields of bold letters streamed past his eyes. Speaking of stubborn midgets,

_Tru,_

_You have no right lecturing me on name calling when you addressed me as A.Hamster (very clever), but because I’m the better of us two, I relented. You’re welcome. Did you like my fliers this morning? I did warn you.  But since you decided to not come forward, and I’m still, I’ll admit, very curious as to who you are, I will remain in contact with you. That is, as long as you remain in contact with me after you’ve learned of my true nature._

_Signed, Definitely not Hamster._

Thomas took a deep breath. Like Madison said, this was a good chance. His body tensed.  

_Alexander,_

_I thought Hamster was cute. Much better than, as my friends like to call it, ‘TruVirgin’. I’m very appreciative of you inclining towards my will to be called Tru, by the way. Much more mysterious and romantic, don’t you think? Let’s go with that name when we’re explaining to our kids how we met. Have to be honest, though, I’m not quite as appreciative of the fliers. That was a dirty trick and now I have so much spam, you wouldn’t even believe. It’ll be fine because this isn’t my normal email, but now if we are to email regularly it will be harder to find your responses._

_Yours, Tru._

  


______________

  


_Tru,_

_You have friends? Tell me about them. Any of them likely to rat you out? Must be if they call you ‘TruVirgin’._

Hamilton bit his lip, debating on revealing his lead in the next part, before having a mental _‘To heck with it!’_ and continuing,

_Any of them in the Debate Club like you?_

He wouldn’t hold any cards against them now, but it would be an understandable tactic to give up some information to form a sort of trust. And really, that’s just what he instinctively wanted to say, and Hamilton was a sucker for giving up to his instincts.

_Well at least we have the same hobbies. Not that it matters because this is probably a prank, knowing my fellow Debate members. Heck I wouldn’t be surprised if the entire Club is in on this and you have some group chat where you all argue over what to say next. But then again, I couldn’t see anyone trying to manage that sort of chaos. Maybe everyone just gets very serious and professional when it comes to fucking with Alexander Hamilton._

_A.Ham._

  


______________

  


_Alexander,_

_Fair guess, but no. Unfortunately, it is one and one alone. I say unfortunately because this is a rather awkward spot for me too, and I very much wish this entire thing would go away._

_Tru._

Hamilton stared at the short message, a few things streaming through his head. He’d been back and forth with Tru all day, and fully intended on writing out another paragraph in response. He heavily anticipated every email, and not a thing was different as he lay awake in bed holding his phone to his face when he’d seen his screen light up in notification.

The very shortness of the response set him uneasy at first, but before he could warn and choose against reading it he’d already gobbled up the words- gobbled up twice… three times. Rolled over, thinking, before deciding to not respond. Glancing at the device, rolling over, and then finally uprighting, typing out a quick message himself and then locking it away.

  


______________

  


_Tru,_

_Why are you emailing me then?_

_A.Ham._

Oh shit.

Had Thomas messed up? He’d thought with some mutual disdain it would lighten the mood but that was some fairly obvious judgement in that tone. Thomas paused in his panic, looking up around at his classmates nervously as they all also diddled on their screens, pulling up what was definitely not the powerpoint being presented. He pulled his laptop screen closer unconsciously before looking back down at the message.

He’d already messed up- four messages in and he’d already messed up. Thomas thought a moment. Panic welled up in him, and suddenly he realized that what he’d said before wasn’t at all true. The proof was how terrified he felt now of losing this connection.

He sent what he knew would be the shortest and sweetest to Alexander’s smug eyes,

_Alexander,_

_Touc_ _h_ _é_

_Tru._

  


_____________

  


Alexander opened his phone, hardly thinking before he caught the notification and almost groaned audibly for all of his class to hear. Without second guessing he closed it, before then proceeding to hesitate and open the email anyways. It wasn’t like he had anything better to do.

He read it, and slowly a smile took over his face. He typed back,

_Tru,_

_Well now you’re making me second guess myself. You see the anonymous tip I was given hinted you were either a Debate or French member, and I assumed Debate because that’s the closest to me, but now you’re pulling out some french on me? Only joking, of course. But it may interest you I am actually fluent in french. So if we start typing in french that may be more discreet and we most likely won't have to be shielding our screens away from prying eyes. Or at least you won't have to. I’ll proudly say I’ve admitted and explained everything to every curious eye that’s wandered over to me about you. But I do enjoy flexing my language muscles, so I’ll still consider it a good trade off._

_Ham._

“What are you smiling about?” Angelica asked him later when he’d walked out of the classroom, and he hadn’t even realized he’d been smiling. Or that even before he hadn’t been enough so that someone would notice if he did. So many odd things were being pointed out about himself lately.

  


______________

  


_Hamilton_ was bilingual? Jefferson had stopped in the consumption of an entire twelve-piece pizza, which was now getting cold, to take in the fact. He hadn’t realized this before, but almost like an awakening, he suddenly considered it as fact that he had a thing for bilinguals. What was more attractive than a person who could scream love cries in two different ways?

 _Alexander_ _,_

_I do not speak fluently, but I am trying. Perhaps you could teach me? Have a few lessons together? I guess you could say I’m an admirer of the language. Have always wanted to study in France. That’s so cool that you’re bilingual. How are you bilingual?_

_Tru._

It was only after he’d sent the email that he’d realized he’d just offered one more piece to the puzzle of who he is, and then another week afterwards to realize he didn’t really care.  

  


______________

  


_Tru,_

_Well lucky for you, I’ve always wanted to visit France as well. Too bad in order to go together or for me to give you lessons we have to meet in person. And by meet in person I do not mean meet through a confession box._

_Ham._

Alex had avoided the ‘how are you bilingual?’ question. He could always one up it with a snarky comeback, but the inquiry brought up too many uncomfortable insights and explanation into life before college, and he wouldn’t free up that even to his closest friends, much less some, though he was reluctant to admit it, complete stranger over an email that could be any asshole wanting to get blackmail on him.  

Hamilton almost sent the email before then considering another piece of investigation he could weave in for more information. He added it to his mental checklist; In the Debate club, likes french.

_PS: You friends with Lafayette? Figured you may be because he was in Debate two years back and you seem so interested in France. Heck, he’d probably give you lessons if he weren’t thousands of miles away at this point._

Hamilton was close with Laf, and if his sender had any interaction with Lafayette at all they’d know it wasn’t a ‘too much information’ type of question, because _everyone_ was friends with Laf. Little did they know, however, that the answer to this question unveiled yet another secret of his sender; in order to be friends with Laf, they had to either be Hamilton’s year or older, because Laf, after one year, had gone back to France. So that only left one year that this sender could’ve known Laf, and that furthered down his pool of suspects a good deal.

“Hamilton.”

Alex looked up, startled from his devious planning to look into the eyes of Aaron Burr. His dark eyes drooped in exasperation.

“Were… Were you even listening?”

“Burr I’d consider not just starting up a conversation with someone obviously engrossed in their phone,” Alexander responded, shrugging.

“You started texting _after_ I’d begun a conversation with you, actually-”

“Let’s get this going, people,” Washington said from the front. “Sooner we get this over with the sooner you can eat the cookies Patrick made. Thank you again, Patrick.”

The man saluted from his seat.

Burr leaned over to him as the mumbles died off at the mention of cookies. “Talk to you after,” he whispered over, and Hamilton nodded.

“Now since last free-for-all was… a bit off track,” Washington said, eyes narrowing and accusing everyone in the room for its failure. Not that he was wrong to do so. In fact, he was entirely right. “I am to choose next week’s debaters _and_ seconds.” Everyone collectively groaned, while Washington looked unpeeved and just as menacing. “You will lose this privilege of picking debaters until a degree of professionalism is shown in all of you. Now, for next week's debaters…”

All around were desperate, freshmen eyes looking for a chance and elder seniors praying for mercy.

“For offense I have Timothy Pickering, second Oliver Wolcott.”

A relieved and then excited buzz filled the room. Newbies were having their chance, that was fine with Hamilton, after all-

  
“For defense Thomas Jefferson, second Alexander Hamilton.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yet another chapter in which I had to type it all up in one day because I completely forgot to pace this out and plan ahead. Aye, longer than the last one tho. Thanks guys!


	5. Use Up All My Minutes, Babe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hamilton forces Jefferson to talk to him because feelings, Hamilton gets a new lead, and gossipy bar stuff is next!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure if you'll notice this small change in detail but Hamilton and Jefferson are now on defense for the debate instead of offense. Doesn't really matter but I didn't want anyone pointing it out if you did notice the change so, yeah, this is your warning!

Jefferson and Hamilton, as though they’d practiced it, synchronized into an exact bee-line for Washington as soon as the club let out.

“George, can you explain exactly _why-_ ”

“I think this is a good chance for both you and the other team,” Washington replied back simply, packing his satchel and smiling like it didn’t mean a thing to him, like he was expecting them and they both weren’t both stiff with outrage.

“I _hardly_ think-” Hamilton began, with a lot more venom.

George finally made eye contact, his smile gone and a stern look to him that made Alexander stop mid-sentence. He sighed, “For Pickering and Wolcott, it’s a chance for them to get experience. And for you two, since the competition season is starting up, and the both of you are key parts to our success, I need you to get used to working together more closely-”

“We’ve worked together _fine_ before, both part of the Debate Team, and-”

“Well yes, you as a manager and Thomas as a co-argument planner. But Jefferson is second seat this year.” Hamilton physically winced. “So you’re gonna be seeing a lot more of each other now. I need your corporation, and this is the exact right practice for that.”

“I don’t see why _I’m_ second, though-”

“Because Jefferson is second chair for the Debate Team. What _I_ don’t see is why this is such a big problem. I expect you to be professional about this, Hamilton. If you just put your minds to it, you two could actually be a pretty good team. Keep each other on your toes, so to speak. I don’t even believe you two actually disagree as much as you put on; You think very similarly, in a way-”

Both men groaned at the exact same time, realized the irony of it, and snapped glaring eyes to one another.

Washington shook his head. “I’ll leave you to it, then. Debate Team is meeting on Friday. Don’t forget.” And he was gone.

A silent pause filled the room, both men silent.

“So, separation of church and state?”

“What?” Hamilton turned to Jefferson, confused, having been sequestered into his mind since Washington had left, not even realizing Jefferson was still beside him.

Jefferson looked at him indifferently. “The first amendment; Probably the first thing to be brought up, right?” His eyes popped away from Hamilton’s as he shrugged. “Could argue either way.”

Hamilton blinked, before his jaw dropped and his mouth formed a single ‘o’- Right. They were defensive on churches staying tax exempt.

Jefferson was on his way to grabbing his own things, and once he got there, swung his case over his shoulder cooly. When Jefferson turned back around and took in Hamilton’s face again he only smirked, leaned forward, eyebrow cocked- “So?”

Hamilton startled from his own stillness, shaking his head. “Right. Yeah. I mean, obviously.” Hamilton righted up, shrugging as well like he hadn’t just been staring blankly.

Jefferson rolled his eyes, swerving on his tall legs for the door. “Right, _obviously_ ,” he mocked, sending a sideways glance toward his counterpart.

Hamilton fumed, his ears catching fire as he huffed on his way to gather his own things hastily, hurrying after a Thomas Jefferson who was always hard to keep up with because of his long strides. But Hamilton was one of those individuals who would always keep up, even if he had to work twice as hard.

Once Hamilton had caught up, puffing while Thomas walked casually, he wasted no time to get onto business. “Right. So, first amendment.”

And like a dog let loose, Alexander went off. Continued rambling as Jefferson took suspiciously sharp and complicated turns, prattling on about how letting churches have financial independence only re-enforced the separation from government, the services churches offer being important, free expression of religion being harmed by getting the government involved, the connotations undermining religion, again how the public is positively affected by churches having free reign from tax, founding years had been spent with this system and the country is still in no way ruled over by religion, etc, and etc.

Thomas Jefferson, meanwhile, had not said a thing, and Alexander Hamilton would have been usually perturbed by this, but was so engrossed in what he was talking about he’d hardly taken notice yet. That is, until Jefferson actually did speak. They were in the driveway, Hamilton realized now, and Jefferson was messing with his keys.

“Mhm, that sounds good.”

“Wh-What?” Hamilton stuttered, his eyes popping up from his phone in which he’d begun to pull up the statistics of exactly how much of the church is involved in political candidacy to back his previous assumption.

“That sounds good. Put it on paper and I’ll defend it.”

Hamilton stared at Jefferson for a second as he slid into his car. Hamilton’s eyes narrowed. “You’re… You’re not saying you’re making me organize the entire backbone of the argument?”

“You would anyways,” Jefferson said back matter-of-factly. Hamilton faltered, opening his mouth to protest once again before Jefferson interrupted again, “It sounds good. Write it up and I’ll defend it for you.” Hamilton closed his mouth, brain almost visibly twitching in its attempt to conquer the new proposal put out in front of him. Jefferson started the car, looked back up with a gentle smirk, and as he pulled out, “Just… don’t make it five pages long, ok?”

Hamilton was stunned, Thomas was laughing, and it took one full minute of Alexander talking himself down from chasing after the car for him to actually not do so. His face was bright red, and Alexander began to curse his easily flustered nature; It never did bode well in the art of debate.

Jefferson was gone now, and so Alex should just make on his merry way, but he found himself at a loss for what to do. Expectations had now been let down, while before Hamilton had fully prepared himself for an all out war; Hours long of how to phrase this and that, whether this should be included or not, or how ridiculously stupid Alexander found Jefferson's hair today. But Thomas Jefferson had just conceded to Hamilton's suggestions and then left him in the dust making Alexander feel not quite as exhilarated as he’d thought he’d be in being told he could structure an entire argument the way _he_ wanted.

Hamilton shook his head as he realized that yes, this was technically a good thing. But he still felt weird, maybe a bit disappointed. It was whatever, though, Alex had work to do. Especially if he wanted to make this a kickass debate- Just because they were up against newbies didn’t mean he could take it easy. And so, like everyday, Hamilton headed to the library.

Alex only made it one hour in of typing before he was calling Jefferson, nicknamed BushyHead in his contacts.

“Hello?” came the familiar southern drawl from the other end.

“Should we bring up community effect after or before double taxation?”

“You’re… already working on it?”

“Of course. Just because this is against some newbies doesn’t mean we can take it easy! If anything we need to be more on our guard-”

“I don’t think _newbies_ would even think to start their draft a week before a free-for-all.”

“Would you just shut up and help me?”

“ _Help me?_ Alexander Hamilton asking _me_ for hel-”

“Shut up!”

The library lady let out a loud, disgusted grunt from her desk.

Alexander continued, in a soft, hissy whisper, “Shut up. It’s more so I don’t write something you don’t understand and then mess it up when you present it.”

“Riiiight. Well, given that the effect on the community would probably be the more pathos form of persuasion, and traditionally an emotional impact is best saved for last, I’d go community after.”  

“I disagree. The injustice in the double taxation is way more relatable than the homeless that benefit off of church programs.”

“Then why are you even asking me?”

“Because I don’t want you to mess it up!”

The library lady then looked close to whipping out her paddle, of which Hamilton knew she kept for unspecified reasons.

“Well, I think you have it under control. So can I go now?”

“No. Stay on the phone with me.”

There was a pause in which Hamilton took a disbelieving moment to look even at himself and wonder _why?_ He didn’t know why. He’d said it in the heat of the moment. Some invisible will had taken hold and made him say these things.

“Why?” Jefferson asked, mirroring his own dishevelment, and Hamilton winced.

“Uhhh, because…” he fumbled, cursing himself, thinking of a convincing reason. Why was Alex even trying to convince Jefferson to stay now anyways? And why’d Alexander call in the first place? It didn’t make one damn bit of sense, but- “Granted, usually for debates I write the entire argument.” Jefferson hummed in confirmation, making a bit of irritation take Hamilton hold, but he put it off for sake of keeping Jefferson on the line. “But I’m also never second. So I don’t know if my notes are gonna make any sense to you. So I need to walk you through it, got it?”

It was Alexander's perfectionist talking, but also he just found that after he’d expected to spend an entire evening debating with Jefferson, to be put off it so early by Jefferson himself didn’t sit right for him. This debate just got a whole lot more interesting for Alex, and the quiet atmosphere of the library didn’t fit it. Hamilton was restless, and what a better way to burn energy than by talking to the single human being he knew heated him up the most.

There was a silence, and then, “Fine.”  

Hamilton ignored the small relief he felt in his chest, and instead focused on the rising excitement replacing it. “So, as I was saying…”

It amounted to four hours. Two of which spent actually talking about the argument, one spent relocating after the librarian kicked Hamilton out (in which Jefferson laughed his ass off and Hamilton let out quiet hisses and ‘shut up’s) and then the last hour Jefferson trying to convince Hamilton that what they had written already was enough.

“You will not just present only half of what I write you. That was not the deal,” Hamilton jeered as his fingers continued clacking on the keyboard. The waitress was tapping her heel impatiently for Alex to start moving so she could wipe down her station and head home. Hamilton only smiled at her apologetically before slapping the lid to his laptop closed, dropping two dollars for his three dollar coffee and slipping out of the cafe.  

“Hamilton, I swear to God, I will stand up there and read only one sentence of the entire thing if you hand me a feature length movie script on Friday. I’m not memorizing Hamlet.”

Alex struggled to slip on his coat as he balanced the phone to his ear. “But-” Alexander was cut off when a sharp beep from his mobile device caught his attention. Hamilton took his face from the screen, a notification shadowing it. “ _Shit._ ”

“What?”

“I used up all my minutes.” Hamilton rubbed at his tired eyes as he began walking.

“Told you we’ve been on about this for too long. I think a page is enough.”

“Well you should’ve come with me to the library in the first place.”

“How was I to know? You didn’t even ask me!”

“You should have just _assumed_ that-” another warning beep let off. “God, gotta go. Bye.”

“Bye, Alex.”

Hamilton was already pressing the ‘end call’ before he had even registered what Jefferson had said. The unfamiliar word, Alex's _first name_ , on that southern accent overloaded his thoughts at ten thousand exclamations per second, leaving his mind fried. His phone beeped again, startling him from his stunned look stuck on the ‘call over’ screen, and Alexander groaned as he quickly shut it off. The phone was school issued to him, and that was all the minutes he had left for this month. Or data, for that matter. Another audible groan could be heard from where Alex had stuffed his face into his over-sized coat. He’d pleaded for extensions far too many times to charm himself out of this one.

Hamilton sighed, shivering slightly as a breeze went by. He had been so enrapt in his conversation he’d hardly noticed the weather, and soon he began to miss the sweet warmth southern accents and heated debates offered him. He shivered again, beginning a trot towards his dorm room. He was already on his way through the minutes of talking to Jefferson after leaving the cafe. Hamilton had been insisting that he’d continue typing when he got home while Jefferson was insisting that what he’d typed already was enough. Hamilton would still probably type up some more once he got home. Maybe email it to Jefferson since his phone was now out of use.

Email. That’s right. How could Hamilton forget? He had a potential new lead on this secret admirer. Hopefully they responded. Alex would definitely check as soon as he got home. Heck, it took everything in him now to not just plop down in the snow and start typing away on his computer- but he didn’t. One, because there was no internet in which he could connect to his email with. And second, because he didn’t want to literally freeze his ass off. But Hamilton sure was tempted. Boy, was he tempted.

With an extreme new vigor Alexander fast-walked to the dorm, smiling with an enthusiasm he’d later be embarrassed of, holding tight to the edges of his sleeves and bracing every gust that threatened to send his small frame tumbling down every hill, which there were many of.

Hamilton let out a shuddering breath once he'd entered his dorm, shrugging off his coat and the flakes that were clinging to it. He grunted in annoyance at the thought of it being wet for tomorrow, but too run down from the snow to really do something about it. It was something Alexander knew he would curse himself for later, but he really, really needed a hot shower. But not before he checked his email real fast, and jotted down a few more ideas he had along the way for the debate-

“Alex?" A light turned on from down the hallway and said young man glanced from where he was struggling to see his friend and roommate, John Laurens, whom was already in his pajamas. “Stayed up for you. Told you you shouldn’t be out so late. At least in this weather- Had half a mind you’d either passed out over a pile of books at school again or had already frozen over in a lake.”

“Sorry, mom.”

“Hush up. I have to tell you something.”

“After shower?”

“If after shower you mean actual shower and not computer then pass out then wake up in the middle of the night and take a shower.”

“Fine. Shoot.”

“Well you’re acting cold-” Laurens caught himself, Hamilton looking up unamused from his bent form, “-no pun intended.” Alex looked hardly convinced. “But seriously, haven’t seen you in forever dude.”

“Yeah, I-” Hamilton sighs, swiping his hair back. “Sorry, John. I’ve been thinking the same thing.” Finally he wobbled over on numb feet, Laurens moving over as he passed into the main room and began shuffling through his drawers.

“That’s what I wanted to talk about. Tomorrow. Stars and Stripes.”

“Tomorrow's a Sunday.”

“Any day’s good for drinks, my friend. And no better place than Stars and Stripes.”

Hamilton rumbles in frustration as he fights to pull on a pant leg. “Laurens-” another rough huff of annoyment later, “-You are reckless in almost nothing until alcohol gets involved.”

“And so?”

“I’ll be there.” The other lets out a small victory cry. “What time?”

“Oh, I’ll wake you.”

Hamilton looks up at John somewhat suspiciously, but Laurens only grins and so he sighs, resigned to his fate for lack of proper motivation for anything at the moment.

“Oh! Also, have you seen my blue hairband anywhere-?”

“Nope,” Hamilton says as he slides his laptop out onto the floor, hardly caring for a proper desk as he bent over the screen like some starved caveman.  

“Hmmm.” John looked doubtful, but Hamilton also looked unwilling to budge so he let it go. For now.

Hamilton was busy typing, eyes flickering side to side at an astoundingly rapid pace and Lauren's interest was immediately peaked. Leaning over Laurens asks, “Whatcha doin’?”

Hamilton quickly tilts the screen down and hunches his shoulders to make it out of sight. “Mind your business.”

“Hey! You’ve never been that defensive before! What is it?” John pesters, leaning closer so he was practically on Hamilton’s back and sending the caribbean into his laptop.

“Nothing-”

“C’mon, show me!”

“No!”

“Y’know,” John whispers, laying off, “You’ve been kinda suspicious lately.”

“And you’d know why if you bothered coming to school at all.”

“It’s for protest.”

“Whatever you want to call it.”

John lets out a dissatisfied huff. “Please just tell me.”

“I’ll explain tomorrow, just-” Hamilton sighs, rubbing at his eyes. “Go to sleep. I’ll tell you tomorrow.”

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

And so John slinked off into his lower bunk, smashing his bushy, yet pulled back hair into the mattress. “Mmmm, goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” Hamilton says back, eyes still fixed on the screen which he’d righted to look closer at now that John wasn’t breathing down his neck. A happy, bolded inbox number smiled back at him, and Hamilton fought to keep down his nerves as he clicked on it.

_Alexander,_

_Yes I do know Lafayette. I was taking lessons from him before, actually, but he only taught me dirty words. Interesting guy. Nice try, but I must admit I am tempted to learn more about the language. The bits I do know always seem to come in handy._

Hamilton rolled his eyes. How often did this person find themselves in situations where Laf’s dirty words came in handy?

_Question I have for you: blue or red? And don’t be superstitious about it, answering this one little question won't hurt._

_Tru_

Hamilton closed the laptop, too exhausted to follow up on the notes he’d originally wanted to take or respond to the email just yet. So they knew Laf; that narrowed it down a bit. He’d compose a list of all the Debate Club members and check off based on years. Soon he’d have a complete list of names, one of which was this sender. His stomach squirmed in anticipation.

One step closer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm super excited for next chapter so stick with me guys.


	6. The Dating Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hamilton gives his thoughts on potential bachelors... and they're all negative. Expect you, John Jay. You're cool.

Hamilton had ended up waking at around eleven, and Laurens didn’t leave much room to do much else as not five minutes after said awakening he was out the door, grimacing at the sogginess of his coat. But John actually had a car, so it wasn’t too bad. A nice one, for that matter. But it never really mattered much to Hamilton as long as it got him from A to B, didn’t get him killed, and, most importantly, had air conditioning.

While they were on their way for some much too early drinks, Alexander finally explained to John about this ‘secret admirer’ situation, to which Laurens gaped and complained that he should’ve been notified earlier. Hamilton explained that it wasn’t such a big deal, to which Laurens then gave him such potent a stink eye Alexander actually began to feel physically uncomfortable. Alex was getting rather sick of people looking at him like they knew something he didn’t.

Sighing, Hamilton ran his hands back through his hair, a certain habit he’d picked up after he’d let his hair grow out, and with an exasperated grunt got his fingers tangled messily into the mix of his wavy locks. Hamilton hadn’t the time to brush it this morning, given his abrupt eviction from his house, and so reached for the sun visor, flipping it to show the mirror. Despite being new born into the morning, Alex didn’t look like utter crap. At least, he looked like he’d slept, which was good enough for Hamilton to stay he was looking rather nice today, in fact. Alex’s eyes were already quite large, so the bags never helped him much. His hair, however, was matted and strewn in so many ways Hamilton couldn’t even let it pass.

“John, lend me a scrunchy,” Alex said offhandedly, rubbing at one particularly nasty knot while reaching out a hand expectantly. After a second of receiving no scrunchy band, he looked over. “John?”

Said young man was biting his lip, feigning innocence. “Oh, sorry, I don’t have a spare.”

“Bullshit. There’s three on your wrist right now.”

John Laurens was one of those types of guys; the type that always had cute bracelets and spare accessories lying around. Often John wore sweatbands with either mottos or various rights groups. Basically, John Laurens was a state of the art hippy.

This hippy growled, eyes snapping to look over at his counterpart with judging eyes. “Just… bring it back to me, ok?” he whispered, kneading a puffy green one from off his wrist and into Hamilton’s awaiting hand.

“Oh, poor Laurens- Whenever will your scrunchy come back from war?” Alex teased as he swung his hair forward, gathered it up, flipped it back and then into its low pony tail position.

“Don’t forget, good sir, that I’ve already been widowed once. And I still haven't forgotten about my blue hairband, either-”

“Don’t worry, its sacrifice will not be in vain. I mean, did you _see_ my hair?” Laurens let out a small chuckle at that. “Hey! I didn’t say you had to actually respond to that-” The other man’s laughter only grew. Hamilton swatted light-heartedly at his friend’s shoulder before crossing his own arms and relaxing back into his seat with a small huff.

There was a short, peaceful silence after that.

“Hm. You have to show me all those emails when we get there- God knows you’ve probably overlooked something. Or, more likely, left something out you’re too embarrassed to tell me about,” John says, a sideways grin sent over to Alex who was now gazing out the window.

Hamilton grimaced. He _had_ left some stuff out. It was just… sort of personal, the details.

“Can’t.”

“And why not?”

“Because I don’t have any more data on my phone to show you.” Hamilton thanked every heaven it was actually true.

“ _Again?_ ”

“And all my minutes. Gone. Poof!” Alex emphasized this with a comical fluttering of his hands.

“Really? I mean, you hardly ever call anyone unless it’s for a project or something… So, whom and from which class?”

“Jefferson. Debate. Washington paired us together for a free-for-all.”

John let out a low whistle at this, a big grin still taking up his face. “Man must have a suicide wish or something. And let me guess, he made you second?” Hamilton let off no indication after this, a stubborn, offended silence taking place. “Thought so.”  

“ _You-_ ”

“Oh look, we’re here!”

  


______________

  


Stars and Stripes was as good as common bars went; warmly lit, jukebox on loop of American Pie, frames covering the walls as important men and women of American history stared out at you in dazzling vintage aesthetic, while sleek wooden stools and high tables took up the center. On the edges of the bar were cushioned booths, slightly elevated on platforms.  

Hercules Mulligan was waiting for them already at the corner booth. The broad man smiled brightly, leaning muscled arms over the coronas labeled countertop, cradling his pint. This was opposed to Hamilton’s grumpy exterior, while Laurens, too, was smiling slyly. Mulligan got up to greet them, and almost tipped the table over in his haste to grab Hamilton up into a large bear hug.

“Alexander Hamilton, in the flesh!”

Hamilton coughed, laughing and patting the man who hoisted him up into the air. “Hu-Hey there Herc. Let me down, will you?”

“Sure thing, bud.” Mulligan set him down, but still beamed with enthusiasm. “Ah, Alex. Haven’t seen you in _forever_ man.”

They slipped into the booth, Laurens between the two.

“Likewise, Herc,” Hamilton said, smiling warmly despite his disgruntled state. It did feel good to see his friends again. He’d been so busy since the start of the year… Alex couldn’t even remember the last time he’d had alcohol, and he’d be sure not to mention that in front of Laurens for fear of being drowned in it before the night was over. Hamilton appreciated a good drink, but not enough to impair his brain in anyway the next day.

“Get them the same as me, Liz,” Mulligan said once the waitress came by. She smiled shyly, nodding and then simpering off. Mulligan’s eyes trailed after her.

Alexander recognized her. Wasn’t sure from where...

Once she was clear across the room and talking to the bartender, John leaned back languidly, cocking a knowing eyebrow Mulligan’s way. “How is it going with her, by the way?”

Hercule’s eyes darted back, a warning look in his eyes as he whispered, “ _Shut up_ , she may hear you,” and then looked back over anxiously to the bar where the blonde girl was pulling out a tray. She noticed his gaze, looked over her shoulder and waved gently. Mulligan proceeded to hide his face in his drink while Laurens and Alexander observed her giggling.

“Am I missing something?” Alex asks dryly, eyeing Mulligan who’d now chugged his entire drink in a record time, slapped the bottom back down onto the table along with sporting a fresh red tint to his cheeks of which no one could prove the cause of.

“Only that our resident Hercules here may have a crush on Miss Elizabeth.”

Elizabeth. The pieces clicked into place. Elizabeth Sanders. That’s why she seemed so familiar; She was in his Lit class along with Eliza.They both had the same name so Sanders went by Liz and Schuyler Eliza. He wasn’t too sure what she majored in, however.

Liz came back with the drinks, her round apple cheeks bright with pink blush, and handed over the two pints.

“Thanks, Liz,” Hercules said, a bit apologetically.

“Yeah, thanks Liz,” John intoned with a knowing smirk. Liz faltered a bit, but still grinned back nervously before skirting off wobbly. “And keep them coming, sweetie!” Hercules immediately smacked John when she turned away, John only laughing back as he steadied his drink. “Hey, watch the alcohol!”  

Mulligan rolled his eyes, looking back over to Alex who twirled the fizz about his mug before finally taking a swing. “So, Alexander. Catch me up. Perhaps on the whole secret admirer situation?”

Laurens sat down his cup, whipping his head over to Hamilton with a betrayed look on his face. “Am I the only one who didn’t know of this until this morning?”

Before Alex could answer, Mulligan did for him, “The entire damn school knows, actually.” John looked over questioningly. “Passed out fliers of the entire damn thing on campus. How’d you even miss that?”

Alexander snorted, John cocking a warning eyebrow over at his best friend. “You did that?”

“Well, I _did_ warn them.”

Before anyone could say anything to that, Liz was back over with a refill for Hercules.

“Thanks.”

She acknowledged him with a nod, almost walking away again if not for the all too familiar voice preventing her, “Hi, get me the same too would you, hun?” and then Angelica Schuyler slid into the booth next to Hamilton, of whom was not to willing to scooch over. “Miss me?”

“Who invited you?”

“Ouch,” she tutted light heartedly, booping his nose as if he were a misbehaving dog. “So rude, Alexander. And to answer your question, no one. I just noticed the few like-minded people sitting at a booth and chose to join them. You don’t mind, do you boys?” The men at the table made affirmative small grunts from their pints.

Alexander paid no mind to this, and instead, “Like-minded…?”

Her grin broadened. “Why, my people that know the only sensible time for a drink is early Sundays!”

“Right.” Hamilton rolled his eyes.

“Alex,” John cut in, “Use Herc’s phone to open up that email. I wanna see.”

Angelica looked at Laurens curiously. “You haven’t seen it?”

John rolled his eyes, throwing up his hands in exasperation. “Well  _apparently_.”

“The fliers are all over campus…”

“He’s not been on campus,” Alexander said matter-of-factly.

“Why?”

“Protest.”

“Oh.. for what?”

“Alright, alright!” John interrupted. “Stop changing the subject. Alex. Email.”

Hamilton’s eyes lit up. “Oh, that reminds me. Mulligan, do you mind pulling up a list of all the Debate Club members?”

Angelica looked over at him in interest. “Oh? New lead?”

“You bet. Jefferson narrowed it down to Debate-” They all looked mildly surprised at this, but Hamilton waved them off. “Long story. Anyways, then apparently this person’s into French, so I asked if they knew Laf, and they said yes. Since Laf’s been off in France since after first year, that means the only way this admirer could’ve known him is if they are either our year-” he gestured over to Mulligan and Laurens, “-or higher.” He then referred to Angelica.

She looked at him, leaning back and crossing her arms. Her mouth jarred open, eyes wide. “Huh. Clever.” Liz came by with the Schuyler's drink, and Angelica broke from the crescent of friends to look up at the waitress, thanking her while the conversation continued.

“So… you need a list of every 3rd year or older from these?” Mulligan asked, already typing away on his phone.

Hamilton nodded, but added, cautiously, “What are you doing?”

“Just making up the list in my notes. One second.”

“You don’t have to-”

Laurens protested, “Alex, stop getting off topic. I have every right at this point to stop this investigation, and I would do so if I weren’t curious of who this sender is.”

“Why don’t you just show up to school one day and get a flier?” Hamilton asked, boredom clear on his face.

Angelica was pink faced after downing a bit of her cup, giggling at what Alexander said. Laurens glared.

“Done,” Mulligan says before the argument can progress any further.

“Great. Hand it here-” Alexander says, reaching out but then pausing as soon as Mulligan moved his hand away, a mischievous grin on his usually kind and friendly  face. “Mulligan, what are you-?”

“Welcome, ladies and gentlemen,” Hercules began rather boisterously and loudly with a mock announcer voice. Hamilton noticed several of the workers glance over. “And welcome to another episode of _The Dating Game!”_ Hamilton’s eyes widened, jutting forward again to grab the phone from Mulligan’s grasp but the larger man easily held it out of reach.

Laurens, opposed to Hamilton, seemed entirely bought into the prospect, leaning forward to sling his arm around Mulligan, proclaiming along with him, “And I am John Laurens, your host. Along with my friend-”

“Hercules Mulligan,” said man finished proudly.

Angelica, also buying in, began soft claps and ‘whoop whoop’s of encouragement.

“And we are here today with our very special guest, tomcat looking for love, Alexander Hamilton!” At this, John stood from his seat, throwing out a hand to Alex who’d now cowered into his seat, covering his face with his hands as multiple occupants of the bar (luckily none of them guests) stared blatantly at the display. Angelica nudged him jokingly. Alex peered out from his hands to send her a death glare, to which she simply shrugged.

Laurens, seemingly finished with his charade, plopped back down into his seat as Mulligan began speaking again, “Our first contestant is George Washington-”

Alexander immediately interjected. “No way.”

Laurens took immediate offense. “Why not?”

“Because he has a girlfriend.”

“Oh,” John looked off. “I mean, technically he could still-”

“No,” Alex cut him off, eyes dead set and shivering slightly at the mere idea. “Not George.”

“Ok, ok,” John waved off, slumping his cheek into the palm of his hand.

“Besides,” Alex continued, “shouldn’t we start with the girls, anyways? Aren’t they the more likely to-”

“There’s no girls on this list,” Mulligan said, looking up from the phone.

The laughing and drinking stilled, as every eye seemed to roll over to Hamilton. He gulped, stunned and self conscious as Laurens and Mulligan looked at him expectantly. Angelica gave him a knowing look. Hamilton shook his head, feigning an easy-going-ness he did not feel, “Well… that narrows it down at least.” They stared, as though expecting more out of him, but Hamilton gave them none.

Hamilton knew it wasn’t a big deal. I mean, it shouldn’t be. Even if this was out of the intent of actually getting together with this person, which it was not, Hamiton knew it didn’t mean much. But he still felt so nervous. He’d never actually talked about it- I mean, it had never came up… until now. Angelica looked at him in disappointment. It read ‘We’re talking about this later’, making Hamilton feel all too defensive until he noticed that Mulligan and Laurens had already moved on to looking at the list again.

“Next we have…” John began in his still grandeur tone, “John Adams.”

Alexander snorted. “I don’t think that man gives a shit about anything, much less romance, or even screwing anybody over if this email turns out to be some elaborate prank.”

Mulligan frowned. “You really think this could be a prank?”

Alex shrugged, again acting a type of indifference he didn’t feel. On the contrary, Alex actually felt a particularly nasty sting at the thought.

John nodded. “Yeah, I don’t think it’s him either. At least from the short period I was in Debate-”

“You were in debate?” Angelica asks, waving the waitress back over.

“Um, yeah. Just first year, though. I wasn’t even initiated.”

Liz was on her way over, but Angelica simply lifted up her empty glass and the girl seemed to get it. The Schuyler's pointed, dark eyes pinned Laurens down with an analytical gaze. “Then how do we know it’s not you?”

John seemed unimpressed by her display of detectiveness. “I didn’t even know this was a thing until this morning on the car drive over here.”

“So?” she countered, viciousness never faltering from her stance, arm leaned across the back of the booth and the other still wrapped around her glass. “Could be part of some complicated ruse to throw us off.”

“I don’t think so-” 

“Thank you, Alexander-”

“-he’s not _that_ smart.”

“Aye-”

“Hey, at least I’m defending you.”

Mulligan raised a brow at the theatrics as John and Alexander began to bicker and Angelica received her second pint. “Could we get back on subject now?”

“Yes please,” Hamilton began, forcibly shoving John to lay back in his seat as the young man pouted, but relented, sipping more ferociously at his drink.

“Ah, thank God, you two were starting to annoy me,” Angelica sighed, waving her hand in dismissal of the two’s antics.

“You’re the one who started-” John began, but Mulligan stopped him.

“Ahem,” Herc coughed, looking pointedly around the table. The three stayed tense, but quieted. “Anyways, uhh, next we have… Ben Franklin.”

Alexander, once again, decisively put the notion down. “Nope.”

“Y’know, we’re not gonna get anywhere if you keep shooting ideas down,” Angelica said cooly from around the rim of her drink.

Hamilton shook his head, face very serious. “He’s too weird.”

“He’ll be perfect for you, then,” John said, smiling. Hamilton rolled his eyes.

Mulligan seemed more supportive. “Actually, I think he might have a girlfriend too.”

Hamilton smiled. _“See?”_

“Heard he has commitment issues, though. Apparently he hasn’t seen her in months.”

John smirked, mocking, _“See?”_

Hamilton shrugged. “Happens in every college relationship.”

Angelica sighed, shaking her head. “Well, we’re not getting anywhere arguing about that. Alex doesn’t think so. Move on.”

Laurens pouted slightly, but gave into looking back at the list, reading off the name, “James Madison.”

“Ehhh- No.”

“Hamilton, come _on_ -” Laurens groaned.

“I can’t help that nearly everyone you've listed thus far either has a reason to hate me or is just off by nature!”

Angelica glared hard at him. “Alex, this person has obviously been keeping this bottled up for a long time. They’re probably good at masking their true feelings for you. They won't be as they seem. At this point you can't turn a blind eye to anyone.”

“What do you mean ‘bottled up for a long time’?” John asked, eyes quizzical. 

Angelica responded before Alexander could dissuade it, “The email said he’d been crushing on Alex for three years.”

_“Three years-?”_

Hamilton quickly fires back. “ _Whatever!_ It’s irrelevant right now-”

Angelica practically caught fire in her fury. “Yes it _is_ relevant-”

“Ahem,” Mulligan interrupted loudly again to the fits of argument, face impassive to their heated back-and-forths. “Hamilton, would you agree to putting Madison on the back burner for now? I mean, I’ve run into him a few times, and I know he’s a reasonable guy. Sweet, even. And first year I remember you mentioning he’d helped you in a few classes.”  

Hamilton paused, seemed like he’d wanted to protest, but slumped after a moment, nodding consensually with a gruff frown still adorning his features. Mulligan smiled, nodding as he typed a small note into his list.  

“So! Next I have… Aaron Burr.”

“Mm. Nah.”

The rest of the group didn’t even say anything to this, simply looked at him with dejected eyes. “Why?” Angelica asked simply.

Alexander explains honestly, “This one I _know_ is indifferent towards me, if a little spiteful. Given, he is always my second for debates-”

“That is noteworthy!” Hercules brightens as he types some more.

Hamilton frowns, continuing, “But he’s so… I mean- It’s not even like we’re on opposite sides or anything he’s just so… not on any side. And to me, that’s as good as not having any beliefs. Man only seeks to please when it suits him. He’ll take any position he needs for his own benefit.” Alexander shakes his head at the thought.

The rest look at him in intrigue, nodding slightly.

“Well,” Mulligan says to break the quietness, “I’ll still take note of him.” Once Hercules had seemed to have stopped typing Laurens grabbed the phone from him, making the larger of the two glare at him wordlessly.

“And now, I present to you, our fifth contestant, John Jay.”

Hamilton opened his mouth, pointer finger up, a ‘no’ undoubtedly on the tip of his tongue. But then Alexander falters, his hand falls, his eyes waver downward and he thinks a moment. Finally, he speaks to the audience with baited breath, “Actually… maybe.”

“Woo! We have a winner-” John yells, throwing his arms up in celebration

Alexander glares at John. “It’s not for certain-”

“But it’s a step in the right direction,” Angelica adds in, smiling as she and Laurens make a rare, understanding eye contact with one another.

“Stop that!” Hamilton snapped between them.

“So,” Mulligan diffuses once more, “What do you think of him?”

Hamilton scratches his head. “I don't know, we don’t talk _too_ much. Mostly about homework, debates… just acquaintance stuff like that.” Then, Alexander’s eyebrows peaked. “Actually, there was this one week where he got really sick. We had the same professors so I’d bring him his homework, help him out on it, bring some soup over- Y’know, just that kinda stuff.”

“Oh my Goodness. It’s so classic, like the movies,” John gushed. “Unsuspecting student nurses poor other student back to health. Little does he know however how much this means to the other, and slowly, over the next two years, the student develops a deep dark crush for his darling, caring lovebird!”

Angelica nods curtly. “It isn’t too off the mark, actually.”

Hamilton's eyes furrow. “I guess so. But I mean, Madison was helping him out during that time as well so it wasn’t like it was _only_ me.”

“But James Madison isn’t a Caribbean hottie. Maybe he’s got a thing for islanders-”

Hamilton stifles a disgruntled protest at this, as Angelica smiles contently. “So it’s settled. Now’s the time to look more into this John Jay character, before he suspects you know it’s him.”

“Hold up,” Herc shortstops, holding up a hand as he stares down at his screen. “There’s still one more name.”

“Go on then,” John sighs, and Herc rolls his eyes.

“Thomas Jefferson.”

There’s a silence all around the table, and everyone’s eyes drag over to Hamilton after his extended quietness, expecting some grand expression. Hamilton, however, was quite unexpectedly cupping his mouth, cheeks a beat red, shoulders shaking. 

“What are you-?” Angelica began.

“Pfffft-” Alex releases his mouth, doubling over like he’d been shot, and the occupants of the room sure would have thought he was, if not for the obscene amount of laughter that came after it. The rest stared, shocked, as Hamilton laughed until tears were streaming down his cheeks. He tried to talk every once in awhile, but ended up breaking again into heavy spasms on the counter top. At some point he mustered, voice shaky, “Th-Thomas… Thomas _fucking_ Jefferson?!” Alex couldn’t handle it anymore, slapping the table in his mirth. He righted up as John reached out a hand in slight, amused concern. “No way. Never. I mean, I’ll give him this-” Hamilton swept his distorted hair backward up out of his face, “-he _is_ the most attractive out of them all, but-” he shook his head and chuckled weakly, “that man would rather shave his hair. And let me tell you,” Hamilton said, with a sudden seriousness, “that man _loves_ his hair.”

The group went quiet, all a bit shocked, but then John was smiling again, whispering, “I’m gonna tell him you said he’s the hottest.”

Hamilton’s happy mood dropped like a rock into a pond, his face going pale. “Don’t you _dare_ -”

John was unperturbed. “I will do it. I know him. Come to think of it, you talk about this guy a lot actually.”

“John, I swear to God-”

“You know I’d do it.”

Hamilton leans back, a critical mask covering his terrified features. He evaluates his counterpart critically. “No you wouldn’t. You don’t even go on campus.”

“I could find his number.”

The two stared each other down, and Mulligan sighed. “Well, I’ll put him under the ‘noteworthy’ list.”

Hamilton broke from his stare match, panicked eyes turned on Hercules. “What?! Why-?”

“More likely the ‘Hamilton would fuck’ list,” John jabbed in, smirking. Hamilton resumed glaring at him.

Mulligan shrugged. “You didn't have such a strong reaction to any of the other ones. Except maybe Burr. But even so... “ his eyes looked up wisely. “Any strong emotion in a case like this is highly suspicious.”

Hamilton pulled back and bit his lip, suddenly nervous.

“Well,” Angelica laments as she stretches from her squat. “This was groundbreaking. I have to meet up with my boyfriend, now-”

“Golddigger,” Hamilton jeers as he takes a sip of his barely touched pint. Angelica glowers at him, popping him on the back of the head and making Hamilton choke on his beverage.

“I’ll see you guys later,” she farewells cheerily to the other two at the table, whom tentatively wave goodbye as well.

“She’s right, though,” Mulligan says once she’s trotted off. “I think this was very beneficial for you, Alexander.” Alexander hums from his distant, wondering mind in affirmation, trailing the names over in his head again. Mulligan smiles understandingly. “I’ll send the list to you.”

“Say, did she even pay?” John suddenly speaks up, eyebrows narrowing.

Hamilton groans, slamming his face into the table.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was so much fun to write, and hopefully, to read.


	7. A Book On Law

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A misunderstanding cleared up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick note! Last email Jefferson sent was asking Hamilton; blue or red? Just wanted to refresh that bit so y’all are not confused by this opening email.

_ Tru, _

 

_ Blue, if you must know. But I am suspicious of your intentions anyways, so I believe I am entitled to some answered questions as well. So; blue or red? Tea or coffee? Pepsi or cola? Morning or night? Don’t be a smartass about it.  _

 

_ A.Ham _

  
  


______________

  
  


There wasn’t anything too remarkable about this day, other than that Jefferson had gotten an email back from you-know-who, and that the weather wasn’t too bad. Other than that though Jefferson had had a completely normal morning. That is, until Hamilton showed up into the club room with a particularly constipated look on his face. Thomas had almost laughed out loud and began poking fun, but stopped himself in order to observe when his interest peaked at the unexpected turn the morning had took. 

“Jefferson,” Hamilton spit, a bit of his face relaxing after Thomas served as a distraction from Alex’s previous thought process. 

“Hamilton,” Jefferson responded back, and as soon as he did, Hamilton was back to glancing about nervously. It caught Thomas’s attention like nothing else, and so instead of confronting Hamilton like he usually did, Jefferson looked back down at his phone, yet was glancing up secretly through his lashes to keep an eye on Hamilton. 

Jefferson watched as Alexander unconvincingly tried to look about like there wasn’t some specific sort of intent to his entering of the room, even though it was quite obvious he was here looking for something, and it struck Jefferson as odd that he was trying to not seem like he was. Usually Hamilton held no constraints in hiding his true intentions for something; Alex would walk right up and take it, every time. But now Hamilton was putting on a face, scanning the room as he went to his usual seat across Jefferson, which just happened to give Thomas the perfect view of the brunet. 

It didn't escape his notice that for a second Alexander’s eyes had paused, as if whatever he was looking for he’d finally caught eye of, but then, to cover it up, he’d quickly looked away to sit. Jefferson immediately looked to see what Alex had hesitated on. 

John Jay. The young man was bent over a book- Thomas couldn’t catch the title. An oddness settled into Jefferson, a million questions popping up at once, because there wasn’t anything around John Jay that would have drawn attention from Alexander at all. Just the book, and Jay’s book bag. Jay was sitting away from the talking participants of the room. Madison wasn’t around so Jefferson wasn’t much for conversation either, but for Jay it was a common occurrence to find him quite alone. Jay enjoyed debate for the intellectual value, but didn’t much like the conflict aspect. It made him a valuable researcher but not actual debater, which was all good said and done but it made him prone to disliking many of the conversations that ignited in every conversation held within the Debate confines, as they were all naturally clashing men and women. So John Jay had spent only two years in the Debate Team before he’d given it up for lack of real connection to anyone. Madison had been quite fond of him though, and Hamilton, actually. You’d think Alexander would hate anyone who couldn’t stand conflict, as Hamilton started a lot of it, but soon Jefferson had realized it wasn’t people unwilling to fight that annoyed the young man, but people with nothing to fight for.

That still didn’t explain why Hamilton was looking at Jay though. Hamilton never really bothered to talk to the other man anymore if not about schoolwork, and if that were the case Alexander wouldn't have hesitated. He would have walked right up and been blunt about it. But Hamilton sat right down, sent an apologetic look to the group who’d called him over, and tried to look busy at his notebook.

This morning had definitely shifted in gear. Jefferson watched as Hamilton fumbled around for a minute or two, shifting his chin from palm to palm and flicking the pages of the notebook unconvincingly. What Jefferson would give to get caught up in a game of poker with that dude. Finally, some sort of courage took up place of Alexander’s face as he clapped the notes shut, stuffed it in his bag and launched up. As if this air balloon willing him to sit up had immediately deflated, however, he trudged up the stairs shakily and fidgety to where Jay sat, whom was completely oblivious to Alexander’s incredible display of nervousness. Jefferson had never seen anything like it before. Alex could get embarrassed, sure, but never disheartened. The young man always took pride and confidence in everything he did so this was the most unusual site, and only Jefferson seemed to be taking note of it. 

He tried to turn as unsuspiciously as he could to get a better look once Hamilton had made his way beside Jay, while said man still hadn’t noticed the other approaching him. 

Hamilton made a slight coughing noise as he greeted with visible anxiety, “Uh, hey, Jay.” 

Jay looked up, a bit taken aback at having been addressed (seems it wasn’t just Jefferson’s morning pattern that had been broken). His eyebrows rose as he responded back, placing his book pages down, “Alexander! Is this about that lab last Wednesday? I must say, I was even pressed to rally a group in protest of that damn thing-” 

“No,” Hamilton interrupted, and for a second, that just sat there, hanging in the air while Jay looked even more taken aback. “I mean,” Hamilton started up again, seeming having realized how abrupt and rude that had sounded, “I didn’t want to talk to you about that.” 

Usually Jefferson found Hamilton’s red cheeks endearing, but now it only seemed to make him feel uneasy. 

“Ok..?”

“Yeah- I mean, sorry, this is weird.” Hamilton laughed, combing his hair back out of his face. “I just… wanted to catch up, I guess? Haven’t really talked to you much in awhile. You doing alright?”

Jay seemed unconvinced, as was Jefferson, but he seemed to give into whatever Hamilton was fronting. “True. Everything’s as usual, I guess.” Jay gestured to the seat beside him, and Alex gratefully took the seat. “How about you?” 

“Same here. Just as always.”

“Get into any interesting fights lately?” Jay asked knowingly, smirking as Hamilton smirked back. 

“Well, now that you mention it…” the next thing was too low for Jefferson to pick up, and so he risked the glance up at the two, only to see that Jay was laughing quietly, Hamilton speaking in fervent whispers. To Thomas’s mortification and suspicion, Jay looked over at him as Alexander said these things. Jefferson looked quickly back down to his phone, not daring to look back up again as the conversation continued. Jay didn’t say anything about having caught Thomas watching them.    

“Well, George practically brought it upon himself,” Jay sighed.

“Yeah, wish it didn’t cost me my minutes though...”

Jefferson smirked even as a pinch of irritation ignited in him.  _ Now _ he knew what they were talking about, and that’s why Jay had looked over at him. Thomas almost rolled his eyes. It wasn’t  _ his _ fault the dope had kept him on the phone for four plus hours- Not that he was complaining, but he hadn’t even been the one to call in the first place!  

“Well, you do talk a lot Alex,” Jay conceded.

Jefferson bit back his own, “Here that Hamilton!”

“It’s his fault I had to talk so much though. I  _ had _ to call him. It was all completely necessary.” 

Jefferson really had to hold himself back now. 

“Whatever you say.” 

“Anyways, really, how are you? Last time we’d talked long term was when you were sick for a week.” 

“That was a year ago Hamilton.” 

“You  _ were _ pretty sick.”  

Jay laughed again, shaking his head. “Ok, ok, what’s this all about Hamilton? For real.” 

That’s what Thomas would like to know. 

Hamilton puffed up, an indignant look crossing his face. “I don’t know what you’re talk about. I just wanted to talk to you.” 

“Right…”

A silence fell over. Until, as usual, Alexander broke it, “So, what’s that book?”

This seemed to distract Jay for awhile. Awhile enough that it made Jefferson drone out of the conversation, so long of a while that people came and gone, and even James stopped by to distract him from the now boring exchange. Not boring enough, however, to sedate Jefferson’s crawling curiosity. They were still talking- something about law, now. It made sense because the book itself was about law.  

“Speaking of that,” Jay said with rapt fascination, and peeking adoration, “that last debate with Jefferson last week. Despite Jefferson’s turntables I do think you had an excellent point.”

Hamilton faltered, a weak smile taking over his face. “Thanks. I don’t usually use so much statistics in my argument, but-”

“No. It was very interesting. You clearly had the better argument. I mean, it didn’t help also that Jefferson’s entire argument also revolved around, and was basically the same technique, of your former debating conquests. It was clever and all-” Jay shook his head, “-but still.” 

Alexander looked abashed at the other, laughing softly, “Uh, wow. Thank you.” He straightened up. “But really, I’m sure you could hold your very own out there, y’know. This last conversation has definitely changed the way I look at contracts.” 

Jay smiled sadly. “I’m sure so, but I’ve never been like that, as you know. I’m more so the guy that stops arguments from happening rather than insinuating them.” 

Hamilton hummed along before his eyes trailed off onto the clock at the head of the room, horror taking over his face. 

“Ah, shit.”

“What is it?” 

Alexander shook his head, standing. “It’s nothing. Damn, that’s what I get for using up all my data-”

“You gonna be ok?”

Hamilton shook his head, laughing as he waved the other off, hurrying off down the steps of the lecture room. “No, I’m just used to my phone reminding me of these things.” 

“Oh.” Jay frowned a bit, seeming to let the whole hasty exit off, until Hamilton stopped dead in his tracks, and Jefferson saw him as he bit his lip, curling his fingers around his bag before swinging back around. 

“John?”

Said man looked back up. 

“Um…” Alex shifted in his shoes. “I enjoyed this conversation. We should have it again. Some other time. Maybe over coffee? I know the perfect place where the waiters don’t get too pissed if you stay late-”

“Sure, Alex,” Jay said back, his face clearly shocked but not unhappy at the invitation. “That sounds great.”

Alexander smiled widely back, nodding his head. “Later!”

“Later…” John looked back down at his book, and began to read again. 

What. 

Jefferson’s mind reeled. 

_ What? _

That couldn’t have been- Why would Hamilton even- There was absolutely  _ no _ reason- It had looked like _ maybe _ \- What in the hell was Hamilton  _ doing? _ And why  _ John Jay _ of all people? 

Thomas leaned back, slugging down into his seat, finally able to relax and not be stuffed into his phone for fear of being noticed. Now that he thought about it, though, the conversation between the two had lasted about up to an hour, and that was perhaps too much time for Jefferson to believably be wrapped up in his screen. Yet at this point he hardly cared. 

What the  _ hell _ was going on?

 

______________

  
  


_ Alexander,  _

 

_ Right. So, I ask one question and as repayment I have to answer four? Seems a bit unfair, but seeing as your questions aren’t altogether clever in piecing together my identity I’ll give it to you. So; purple, neither, cola, and night. Happy? Now I get to ask another question. If you were to be any type of animal, what would you be? _

 

_ Tru _

  
  


______________

  
  


Hamilton shuffled about from the snowy mounds onto icy concrete, huffing grumpily at his situation in general given that his shoes had lost all friction after the frozen sheets had undoubtedly creeped into every crevice of his tread boots. He’d gotten them from Eliza on his first birthday in the States after much complaining about his old shoes, which were in fact not boots and regular sneakers that’d been ruined about one week into the cold. They were prized possessions of his, but finally seemed to have too many numbers done onto them to hold up anymore. 

It had been so nice yesterday, but last night hit like a bitch and soon the entire town was covered in a winter wonderland. Including its occupants.

The glassy doors of the usual library came into view, and despite his soft warnings to himself that picking up any sort of pace would send him slicking off into the distance, or, more likely, into the glass doors, he couldn’t resist temptation. Heading head first for the door, he hardly even noticed the coat that settled in on him once he’d drawn close, while the door, shiny in the morning light, opened for him. Hamilton was quite surprised, but stepped through quickly as the other occupant that’d opened the door for him shuffled in as well. 

Alexander turned, a ‘thank you’ on his lips, before his jaw simply dropped. 

“Jefferson?”

Said man laughed, his hair resembling that of a sheep as he dusted off the frost. “Really? We’re not even in the club room and the first thing to come out of your mouth is _ still  _ ‘Jefferson’? I had no idea I had such an effect on you. A thank you would be nice though, actually.” 

Hamilton rose only one brow. “Thanks.” He then proceeded to leave, fully intent on not letting the smug indifference of his peer get to him, before he stopped in his tracks and turned back around. “Wait. You go here?”

Jefferson shrugged off his coat which he cradled in his arms. He was wearing a green turtleneck, and a pair of sleek black dress pants. Thomas Jefferson always looked put together, and it always bothered the hell out of Hamilton.

“What, I’m not allowed in a library? I study too, y'know.” 

Hamilton cut right through the bullshit. “Yes, but one wouldn’t typically come to study at the furthest library in the whole damn town from campus when one such individual I  _ know _ owns an apartment conveniently located right in the dot middle of said college town.”

Jefferson shrugged, passing Hamilton dismissively. 

“Place is more quiet- colorful. And for the record, I’ve been coming here earlier than you have.”

This took Hamilton a moment to comprehend. “How do you know you’ve been coming here earlier than I have? I live closer here than-”

“You started coming here two weeks into our Freshmen year. I came here first week.”

Hamilton starred, hurrying after the retreating, long and slender back. “What are you stalking me or something?” 

Thomas glanced over his shoulder with a small smirk. “Could be. Or it could be I saw you walk in through the front door and you’re just oblivious to your surroundings.” 

That hit all too close to home for Hamilton at this point, as Jefferson always seemed to manage. “I still think it’s the first suggestion,” Alex mumbled, and Jefferson seemed to have heard it because he snorted. Alexander then realized he was following Jefferson, and couldn’t really figure why. 

Well, it  _ would _ be a convenient time to ask. 

Hamilton grabbed the clothed arm in front of him, without really thinking, and Jefferson turned back with a bewildered look. Hamilton starred up at him, unperturbed. “Hey. I have to talk to you about something.”  

Jefferson stared at him for a moment, and Alexander suddenly became quite conscious of how long he had been physically connected to the other, and quickly swiped his hand away and back through his hair. After looking only a moment longer with a sort of relaxed calculation in his eyes, Jefferson moved off to the side, and Hamilton was just about ready to holler at him to not ignore him, but Jefferson simply glanced at him, gesturing with his head to follow. Reluctantly Hamilton did, and they eventually came to a more secluded round table framed by bookshelves. Alexander looked about, reflecting that perhaps it was here that Jefferson usually sat. It was far back enough that Alex wouldn’t have trailed back here; He usually stayed up front with the printers.  

Jefferson sat, and wordlessly Hamilton followed suit. Thomas leaned up, elbows on the table as if to silently command ‘Continue.’

Hamilton bit his lip, whispering like the business was of most top importance and secrecy, “So, I have some new leads with the email.” Jefferson’s eyebrows rose in either disbelief or curiosity, but Hamilton continued regardless, “And- Well, basically-” Hamilton starred Jefferson hard in the eyes, examining the man’s unintimidated form. “How well exactly do you know Madison?” 

If Jefferson’s brows weren’t already raised, they definitely were now. “Madison? As in James Madison?” Hamilton nods. “Only since childhood. Why?” Hamilton stared at him judgingly, as slow realization began to creep onto Thomas’s face. “You’re not suspecting it’s  _ him _ , are you?” 

“Shut up!” Hamilton winced, quieting himself, “He’s one of the few. I just wanted to get your thoughts.”

Jefferson shook his head, eyes wide. “Never. No way. He would never. I mean just absolutely-”

“Ok, ok, I get it,” Hamilton hissed, eyes narrowing and glancing away. “I didn't think so anyways. Just… if he starts acting strange-” 

“I would sooner guess he’d been abducted by aliens.”

Alexander bristled. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.” 

“Anytime.” Thomas’s easy grin took hold once again. “So, who are these few?” 

Hamilton sat up, a reserved look taking over his face. “Confidential.” 

Thomas eyed him a moment, until sudden realization took hold yet again. “John Jay…”

Hamilton’s face curled in confusion. “What?”

“That’s why you were talking to him yesterday. You suspect him, don’t you?” 

Hamilton still seemed like he was trying to process Jefferson’s assumption. “Why were you listening in on me and Jay’s conversation?” 

“It caught my attention. You don't usually do that, afterall.”  

Hamilton seemed unconvinced, but eyes averted anyway onto a different thought. The quietness of the library settled back in, and as Hamilton took in the small, dusty confines of the room, he too reminisced on the library's colorful appearance Jefferson had pointed out. It wasn’t in the bright and flashy way, but the rich sort of scheme that made you think of preschool and chalk boards.  

From the silence a sudden sniffle took up the space, and Hamilton looked curiously back over to Jefferson who was wiping at his nose. It was only then Hamilton truly took in Jefferson’s, although put together, slightly pinker look and red tipped nose. It still hadn’t gone away with the cold like his had. 

“You ok there?” Alex asked out of reflex, and Jefferson glanced up slightly from where he was wiping his nose. “Colds are easy to catch in this weather.” Jefferson still looked unable to say anything, so Hamilton shrugged and got up. “Well, don’t go getting sick on our debate time, ok?” he said, sending the other a cautious look. 

It was only once he’d reached the printers that Hamilton realized he’d completely lost all his previous reason to be here. 

  
  


______________

  
  


_ Tru, _

 

_ I said no being a smartass! ‘Purple’ and ‘neither’ are not proper answers, and if you can’t answer, there should at least be an explanation. So, because you didn’t stick to the rules I’m not either. If I were to be any sort of animal I’d be a human, obviously.  _

  
_ A.Ham _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter didn't quite come out as I'd wanted it to 'cause I had competition things going on but I still hope this was enjoyable for you guys!


	8. A Man's Disliking Of Sickness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hamilton becomes the most unlikely of nurses.

This was his fifth call.

A disgruntled John Laurens sat, absent of his mobile device, a captive of one Alexander Hamilton whom simply, after calling once from the cafeteria they sat at and after having received no answer, had walked all the way to the club room with the phone still pressed into his cheek.

“John!” George Washington greeted once he'd entered upon inspection, a pleasant smile on his face. “How unexpected. Haven't seen you around in ages it seems.”

Laurens didn't seem half as delighted at his being here. “Yeah, it has been a while.” His thumb jutted towards Alexander who was tapping his foot with a borderline insane look on his face. “Mr. Obsessed over here stole my phone.”

With a frustrated growl, Hamilton punched the end call, and Laurens winced in fear that the other had actually broken it it was punched with so much force. “You said I could use it,” Hamilton retorted, busily typing at the screen once more.

“Yeah. Once. And then whoever you were calling didn't pick up and next thing I know you're walking off with the damn thing!”

“It's urgent,” Hamilton mumbles unapologetically, staring down at the phone like it has personally victimized him.

“Whatever,” Laurens sighed, rolling his eyes. “Can I have it back now? I need to get out of here before anyone sees me.”

Washington rose an eyebrow at this. “Why would you need to get out of here without being seen?” The tone was laced with rising suspicions of the two young men’s antics.

“He's supposed to be protesting or something,” Hamilton grumbled distractedly.

“It's a very serious cause,” John added in matter-of-factly.

Washington looked interested, if a bit amused. “What's it about?”

“Well-”

Hamilton let out the biggest growl of the day, standing and raising the phone above his head as if he was about to chuck it. Laurens launched up in record time to grab onto Alex’s pelting wrist.

“Alex, my phone-”

“That fucking _bastard_.”

“Hamilton, my _phone_ -”

Alexander released his hold, much to John’s sagging relief, and as Alexander then began a pace across the room, Laurens clutched the phone to his chest in fear.

“This freaking bastard,” Hamilton hissed as he glided from door to door. “Who does he think he is?”

Washington leaned over with a cautious whisper to Laurens, “And who is this ‘bastard’?”

Hamilton heard this, however, and startled the both of them when he snapped to face them, a livid scowl upon his face. “Thomas _fucking_ Jefferson, who else?” He resumed pacing.

“Jefferson?” George sounded surprised, looked around, and then nodded in confirmation, a worried tilt to his next sentence, “Huh. He is late, isn't he?”

Hamilton stopped, snapping right to them again. “That's right. _Late_.” He rushed over to them. “He hasn't even looked over the full argument yet in its final form. I swear to God, if that bastard walks in here with Starbucks or something I'm gonna slap the burning liquid right into his smug face-”

“How was that going, by the way?” Washington asked, seemingly unworried by the whole ordeal. Hamilton looked at him ludicrously. “The partnership, I mean.”

A sarcastic smile drew through Alexander’s face as he intoned in whimsical mockery, “Oh, Just jolly! if he weren't a Goddamn lazy bastard late to the Goddamn prenup.” Alexander's eyes zoomed in into his best friend’s. “John, give me your phone.”

John steps back, cradling onto his device for dear life. “The fuck I am!”

“John, I'm serious. This is an emergency.”

“Well I am too!”

“John-” As Hamilton had began to speak, however, a familiar face entered the room; James Madison. The student was tense, eyes drawn immediately to Hamilton.

“Madison.” Hamilton was already on his way over.

“Alexander,” Madison greeted back, his jaw opening again to speak but Hamilton was already at it.

“Where's Jefferson? He should've been here twenty minutes ago. He's getting Starbucks, isn't he? Smug freaking bastard probably taking his damn well time. Which one is it? The one near square or the one near your apartments?”

“Hamilton,” Madison spoke sternly, “Thomas is sick.”

There was a pause, and then, quietly, “That _bastard_.” Hamilton whipped around, a calm fury in his eyes as he passed the rest of the occupants in the room with little care to get to his book bag and papers.

Madison looked completely affronted. “Alex, it's hardly appropriate to be so- I mean, he's _sick._ ”

“Why didn't he answer my calls?” Hamilton asks bitingly, shuffling a pile before stuffing it uncaringly into the bag.

Madison looked at Hamilton’s behavior coldly. “He's sick. I turned off his phone so he could rest, and talking to you…” Madison regarded Alexander jugdjngly, “is not exactly relaxing.”

Hamilton was paying Madison’s explanation no mind, however, passing through to the exit, muttering softly to himself such things as, “I _told_ him,” and “ridiculous bastard…”

“Where are you going?” Washington asks, but it wasn't much of a question as the three men of the room slowly dawned on the realization as Hamilton headed steadfast for the door. “Hamilton, the debate is starting in ten minutes-”

Alexander stops, turning back to the men, and then, with a no-nonsense stance states, “Yes, there is. But because of one _certain_ inexcusable bastard, I now must obviously postpone this debate. I apologize on behalf of Jefferson.” Hamilton curtly bows, turning back to leave only to have James Madison standing in front of the door, arms crossed defensively.

“You are _not_ going out there to drag him off back here. He's sick, Hamilton. I'll not have you bothering him-”

“I'm not dragging him back here. What, do you think I'm an idiot?” James pulls back in shock. “I have the responsibility as his second chair to fix this mess.”

Madison’s shock dissolves into puzzlement. “Then, what are you going to-?”

Alexander had already pushed him out of the way and gone out the door and out of sight.

Madison stared, jaw-smacked, before a worried frown covered his features. “I better-” he began, reaching for the doorknob, but a warm, large hand prevented him. Madison turned, meeting Washington’s eyes. “Sir-?”

“Let him,” George says knowingly, releasing his palm from Madison’s shoulder as soon as the man made no move to continue his pursuit. The President of the Debate Club smiles, shaking his head. “Alexander has good intentions.” George sits, his smile turning slightly queer. “Though, I do still worry a bit for Jefferson.”

Washington begins to laugh, Laurens looks around with an oblivious ‘what the hell is going on?’ look on his face, while Madison’s previous worry resurfaces ten fold.

  


_____________

  
  


Jefferson was woken up by his own pain. The first thing to pop into his mind is that it is very, very hot. Groaning, he struggles to kick off the covers, ultimately freeing his long legs. He untucks his weighted head from the crevice of two pillows, cursing his thick, tangly hair which harbored all the heat onto his scalp. It was times like this that Jefferson thought about shaving it all off, and then remembered Aaron Burr and thought twice about it.

He felt heavy, and sweaty, and basically like shit. But the worst was his throat, which was dried out like a desert and physically paining him to swallow down. He laid there, fevered and miserable, tempted to just continue lying about instead of doing anything to quench his dying thirst. But then he reasons with himself, imagines what it would feel like to get some water into him, down his sore, scorched throat, and musters the strength to sit up. His upper body completely caves at his torso, and he lets out another stubborn groan. He sits there a moment, unwilling to move. It would be so much easier to just flop back; his mind almost went light headed at how delightful that sounded, but instead his feet touch the cold ground, something that on any other day he found displeasing but he now found quite relieving, and stands up.

He shuffles to the kitchen, attempting to block out the pounding in his head as he grabs a cup from the cupboard and then clicks it into place for the ice and water dispenser attached to the fridge, and while doing that leans his body heavily onto the heavenly chill surface of such fridge.

When the cup is successfully cold against his hand, crinkling and crackling noises emerging from the water hitting against the ice, Jefferson wastes no time and immediately takes a huge gulp, or multiple ones.

Never had water tasted so good, he thinks, guzzling down the full cup and then clicking it back into place for more.

But then he hears the knocking.

Reluctantly leaving his water on the kitchen table, Jefferson heads for the door, dissatisfied grunting coming from his mouth. It was probably James, though Thomas thought surely it would've taken him a good few hours. What time was it anyways-?

To his shock, however, it was not one James Madison at the door. In fact, he had thought it was absolutely no one until he bothered to look down.

Standing outside his door was a very displeased Hamilton, still dressed for the frozen wonderland outside, looking quite adorable with his face peeking out from an oversized coat and scarf.

“Why are you out of bed?” Hamilton asks accusingly.

Jefferson was still recovering from his shock, wondering if a grumpy little Alexander Hamilton had now shown up as a mirage in his fevered state. “E-Excuse me?”

Hamilton rolls his eyes, pushing the other out of the way to walk in unannounced and uninvited, yet still looking as if he owned the place.

Jefferson bit down on the irritation that made his already killer headache sting. “Well, I had to open the door, didn’t I?” he retorts back, having finally processed what Hamilton had said earlier, and quite bewildered and exasperated by it.

Hamilton didn’t respond to this, simply looked about for a moment before spotting the kitchen and merrily entering, plopping a grocery bag onto the counter. Jefferson hesitantly came around the other side, sitting on a stool in the bar connected to the countertop.

“Why didn’t you call me?” Hamilton demands yet again, forehead scrunched as he pulls some things from the bag, which Jefferson paid little mind to.

“Why would I have to be calling you? And why are you asking all the questions here? Why are you in my-”

“We had the debate today, that’s why! You could’ve called-”

“So that’s what this is about? Well sorry but I was sick. I hardly remember anything from this morning, never mind that today was the debate.”

Hamilton had looked up now from what he was doing to look into Jefferson’s eyes as things grew more heated, and they starred there for a moment, before Alexander bit his lip and looked back down stubbornly to whatever he was preparing on the counter. Jefferson continued to stare, finding it difficult to even enjoy his own small victory over Hamilton because his brain felt like it was about to drop out of his skull. He focused, trying to figure out what the hell Hamilton wanted out of him- why he was in his house.

“You’re not dragging me back there.” Hamilton looked up, confused. “I get it. We had a debate. I should’ve called you. But I’m in no state to-”

“Why does everybody think I’m trying to drag you back to do the debate?” Hamilton asks, annoyance in his voice as he shrugs off his coat and hangs it over the counter, rolling up his sleeves.

Jefferson sat, still trying to catch up with his already slow mind. “Then- Then what are you-?”

“Why are you still out of bed?”

Jefferson can’t really muster up anything to say to that, and so he doesn’t, but the thought of going back to bed is quite appealing, and so, miraculously, he ends up doing just as Hamilton demanded. He wastes no time in flopping unceremoniously onto the bed, and then everything goes black for what feels like thirty minutes or so.

The next thing he hears is, “Pfft, Idiot.” He glances up, catching sight of an unimpressed Alexander Hamilton holding something. “Get up.” Jefferson doesn’t want to, but Hamilton sounds so sure of himself, and Thomas so weak, he doesn’t really put up a fight. So he gets up.

Hamilton sets what Jefferson now realizes is soup down onto his side desk, along with a glass of water, which Thomas has to stop himself from grabbing almost immediately. He looks back over to Alex, who he thinks for a moment is stealing his sheets, because really, what else would he be doing? But instead after Hamilton’s done Jefferson gets a perfectly made bed, with the sheets and covers thoughtfully only half way covering the bed so that whomever was using the furnish could remain free of the coverings until a chosen time.

“Get in. And eat this,” Hamilton says, shoving the former bowl and water into his arms.

The idea is just too tempting, Jefferson can no longer resist it, nonetheless question it. So he gets into the bed, now smooth and cool to the touch, and delights in the contrast of warm tomato bisque to the icy touch of the water. Hamilton pulls up a chair, and starts reading as he props his feet up on the corner of the bed. Jefferson glances curiously at the title, only to see it is that book Alex and John Jay had been talking about earlier. Thomas goes back to his soup, unease curling in his gut and he’s not quite sure if it’s because of the book or because he’s sick. Neither are good options.

Jefferson eyes Hamilton from the rim of his soup. “Why are you still here?” He doesn’t mean to sound rude, or like he doesn’t want Hamilton to be here, but he genuinely doesn’t know.

Hamilton doesn’t look very offended, however, glancing up from his book. “Well,” he says, like he’s enlightening a particularly dumb student, “who would clean up the dishes, then?”

It seems to make just perfect sense to Hamilton, but not to Jefferson much at all.

Jefferson’s done in record time, and left with a pleasant fullness in his tummy, his thirst quenched, and an altogether healthier feeling. His head’s not bothering him as much anymore, his limbs still heavy but in a soothing way, like he’s been sedated. And sleepy. He’s quite sleepy. So sleepy he doesn’t quite frankly care when the idea that Hamilton might have poisoned him pops up into his mind.

When Hamilton notices, he closes his book, gesturing to the sheets as he says, “Pull those up. Get some sleep. I’ll be back in a second.”

Jefferson does as he says, again, because the suggestion does sound quite nice. It’s a few moments after he’s pulled the covers up to his nose that Hamilton returns, and by then he’s already half asleep.

Hamilton snaps his fingers, and Jefferson startles from his drunken daydreaming to see Hamilton handing him some pills and another glass of water. Jefferson gets the hint and takes them. After that the cup is immediately relocated from his hands, and placed on the bedside desk along with a box of what Jefferson assumed to be the same type of pills he’d just taken. Hamilton had put the drink by his bedside so he’d have something to drink once he woke up. That was considerate. In fact, now that his brain had finally caught up to him, quite a lot of what Hamilton had just done was considerate. Jefferson’s heart ached inside his chest.

“When you wake up, take two again.”

Jefferson looked back over at Hamilton. He was wearing his coat and scarf again- was reaching down to sling his satchel over his shoulder. He was leaving.

Maybe it was just out of the delirious state he was in that made Jefferson able to voice such a courageous sentiment, because now he was saying, “You should not on that date with John Jay.”

Jefferson immediately regretted it. Like his sickness was a truth serum, Jefferson cursed it to hell. Hamilton paused, looked at him funny, before shaking his head. “It’s not a date." Jefferson begged to differ. "And besides, we already met up.”

Thomas’s heart sunk.

“Why though, anyways?” Hamilton asks, and was Jefferson seeing things or was that slight amusement in his eyes, a gentle smile?

Well his delirious statements had gone this far, why stop them now?    

“I don’ think he’s the secret admirer…” His vision was fading out, Hamilton looked confused.

“Why not?” the question was insistent, but Jefferson couldn’t help it; he was out like a light.

Hamilton stood there, annoyed with the man lying before him. He had half a mind to shake the man awake and demand answers. After all, what sort of cliffhanger was that? But Alex didn’t, because some weird, awkward kindness inside of him just wouldn’t let him.

He’d find out tomorrow, Alexander told himself as he walked out from Jefferson’s apartment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading, huns.


	9. Shake on it?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Founding Father arguments, lovebird arguments, and then finally some not-so-wise agreements.

Hamilton ended up presenting the debate in the end, and despite Alexander’s insistent need to argue on every single subject with just as much vigor as the next, from ‘this-is-my-seat’ to ‘listen-here-this-is-the-true-meaning-of-life’, there was no true fire today. 

Alex sighs, leaning his cheek further onto his palm propped up by the desk. 

It was like an itch at the back of his mind the entire time- He just couldn't stop thinking of Jefferson, and Hamilton suspected it had something to do with him not telling why he didn't believe it was John Jay.

_ Bastard _ .

Hamilton typed just a bit more aggressively after that thought. He had emails to respond to- A bunch of Treasury duties he definitely shouldn't have put off to the side until now. He wasn't one to forget, but with everything else going on with the emails and the bars and the debates and certain bushyheads getting sick it took until Washington asking for updates for Alex to finally recollect all the crap he needed to get done before competition season started. 

Right now he was checking backup on the email he'd sent to Francis Hopkinson about designing a logo. It was the only dude Alex knew in the art department, other than Hercules who was in fashion design.  Hopkinson agreed, and deemed that instead of the twenty dollars Hamilton was willing to pay he’d want a quarter cask of wine. Hamilton stared a moment in disbelief at his screen, wondering if this was a joke. He should forward it to Laf, Alex reminisced, he’d get a real kick out of this, for sure. 

Hamilton didn’t bother; he simply replied ‘Sure’, and went on his way. He’d worry about it later. 

“Hamilton!” 

Said young man glanced up unconsciously, letting out a small ‘hum’ in response. 

The voice that had previously called his name laughed, “Stuck in your computer screen, are you? Just like the rest of this God forsaken club.” 

“Shut it, Franklin,” another voice chimed in. 

The voice, now identified as Franklin, continued on in a false-guilty tone, “What? I can't have light conversation with a dear classmate of mine?” Franklin asked, raising his hands up in a merciful stance to the group of men circled into a mini social group, some sitting up on the counter and others more conventionally sat in seats, but all snickering just the same. 

“Sure you can, if it’s not gossip. Which it was,” John Hancock, Hamilton now realized was the other voice from before, said from his seat, the others nodding along. 

Ben smiled kindly back. “Oh, let’s be honest here. It is quite the addiction you all have with your phones and its vast information and what have you-”

Jonathan Dayton cuts in, a knowing look in his eyes, “Hamilton’s catching up on the work keeping this club afloat, actually. You’re just trying to avoid your math homework-”

“Shh! That-” Franklin’s voice quiets, a keen look in his eye as he whispers, “That’s the…  _ forbidden  _ word.”

The group rolls their eyes, Hancock reclining back exhaustively. “You’re a lost cause, Franklin.” 

“But a genius, you must admit,” Ben says, smirking. 

“Yeah, sure. A self destructive one, at that. You rather blow up the entire science department to find the right measurements for one of your inventions then do actual math.”

Ben’s eyes widen, his hands slamming onto the counter. “I told you that’s the devil’s word!” 

“Franklin.” Came a more dark, no-nonsense tone. Everyone turned, lightheartedness fading as John Adams stood like a shadow in the door frame. “May I suggest redirecting that energy to something more productive?” The man is clearly stressed, which he always seemed to be. Tall and gangly, a judging look in his eye that had cemented there since sophomore year. Quite lazy, but very intolerable of any kinds of wasting time, or ‘fun’ as Ben Franklin would describe it. 

“Oh, the party pooper arrives.” Franklin continues his charade of false enthusiasm, his smile tighter. Adams rolls his eyes, sweeping by to his usual seat. “Not like you’re doing much of anything productive, either,” Franklin bites underneath his breath, making Adams pause and the group watching cautiously wince. 

Adams turns, a warning look in his cocked brow. “I’d watch where you step, Ben. We’re both older classmen but I  _ am _ Vice President-”

“Oh, I’m sorry, your Superfluous Excellency.” Franklin turned, cool headed but undoubtedly aggressive. " _ Now _ you’re throwing your title around like it’s got some weight to it? Thought you’d sit around on your ass forever.”

“Ben,” Hancock cuts in, “Let’s not.” He says it softly yet with urgency, something of which Franklin takes to heart as he quickly slips back into his usual, goofy self. 

“Right. Sorry. Us elder kids have known each other too long, y'know?” Ben turns back to the circle, patting Dayton on the shoulder. “Don't get old, kid.”

Adams purses his lips, a sour look on his face, but he turns back anyways to walk back away to his higher reading spot. Hamilton watches after him, sighing and closing his laptop as he stands. 

“And where are you going?” Franklin asks, Hamilton still not having escaped his notice.

“Coffee. Also to find Jefferson, I’ve got some beef with him after that whole debate fiasco.”

Small mutters of “When does he _ not? _ ” and the like are spared among the circle of comrades, but Hamilton ignores them in favor of the door. 

“Yeah!” Franklin agrees, boisterously, “I’ve got some beef with him too! Pass this along- Tell him I still haven't forgotten about that whole giant sloth thing.” 

“Giant-?” Hamilton catches himself at the door, shaking his head. “Right, yeah. I don’t even want to know.” 

“Don’t work too hard!” someone calls after him.

Hamilton grunts in return. 

  
  


_____________

  
  


Finding Jefferson was remarkably easy, as he nearly collided with him by the entrance. It was of course Jefferson’s fault. This was because as Jefferson whipped the door open, of which Hamilton was on the other side of, a gust of cold wind let through as well, throwing Hamilton backwards. Jefferson panicked, grabbing at whatever he could first, that being Hamilton’s book and laptop. Alex, however, held his laptop and book with such a vice grip that it actually managed to lunge him back forward, straight into Jefferson as they stood smooched together by book and laptop. 

“You ok?” Thomas asked, breathless, that being the first thing to pop into his head once he realized no one was falling.

Hamilton, realizing their closeness, immediately moved away, making Jefferson swoon a bit for the lack of support Alex was offering him. “Jefferson! What were you doing opening doors like that?!” 

Jefferson’s previous concerned appearance vanished with this sharp slap of normalcy, making him exasperatedly pull his hair back which had been pushed over to frame his face quite like a lion’s mane because of the constant wind pushing at the back of his head. If Hamilton was in his right frame of mind he would have commented on it by now _definitely_ , and had just a grand ol’ laugh about it, Thomas thought bitterly. “A ‘Oh thank you, I’m fine. How about you?’ would’ve been nice.” Thomas dusts off the snow from his legs. “And it’s a  _ door _ , how else am I supposed to open it?”

“I don’t know, just-” Hamilton flustered. “Just not when a big gust of wind is coming to throw anyone on the other side of it off their feet!”

“Hamilton, you’re the only one I know clumsy enough and with such a frame small enough to be sent off their feet by the  _ wind.” _

“Well-” Hamilton puffed himself up. “Even if that  _ were _ true-” Jefferson gave him that ‘really?’ eye as Alexander continued, “-the breeze still would’ve been quite uncomfortable for everyone else in the room. You should be more aware of your surroundings.”

“I could say the same for you, on a number of different occasions.”

Hamilton winced slightly, turning away and crossing his arms. It was quite hard to argue that point, and yet, because he’s Alexander Hamilton, he did, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” 

A small ‘pfft’ was heard from behind him, and Alex glanced back to notice that Jefferson was moving away to wherever he’d previously been seeking. “Whatever.”

Hamilton jump started, moving after him. “W-Wait-” Jefferson stopped, unwilling and with a dreadful look in his eye. Hamilton’s stomach curled as he looked off to the side. “Have to talk to you. And I need some breakfast, so-”

“I’m not buying you breakfast because you fell from a gust of wind and it's apparently _my_ fault-”

“I am not asking you to pay for me,” Hamilton snapped back with shockingly spiteful vigor. It almost made Thomas take a step back it was so genuine in its fury. Hamilton seemed to dial it back a bit once he noticed this, wincing at letting his emotions take so much control. 

He had a sore spot for being treated like a charity case. 

“I just want to talk over breakfast,” Alex said softly, offing his eyes and preparing for rejection.  There was a pause, and then Jefferson was throwing his coat back on. “Wh-What’re you doing?”

“You don’t want me to freeze out there as well, do you?” Jefferson asked, smirking. 

Hamilton faltered, and despite it being a rhetorical question, shook his head anyways. 

  
  


______________

  
  


“You couldn’t expect me to just forget-”

“But I could expect you to have the decency to not mention it again…” Thomas groaned, looking into his pancakes that he stabbed mercilessly. Turns out Hamilton had noticed Jefferson's lion mane from before, and was very insistent about talking about it. 

Despite Hamilton’s former nervousness, getting on with Thomas Jefferson outside the debate room was quite easier than he expected, as long as he kept the steady income of arguments on the way. It was rather fun, really- Now that Alex thought about it. He didn’t really notice because he was so caught up in the moment- Like he was on a roll with an essay he was writing or was reading one particularly awesome book; Time just slipped away from him before he even knew it. 

Thomas surfaced from his pancake-stabbing grumpiness still looking very grumpy. “Well, if it helps, I am planning on cutting it soon.”

Hamilton faltered in his smug sip of coffee, eyes widening. “Wait… What?”

“My hair,” Jefferson groans, twirling a lock of it between his fingers. “I’m thinking of cutting it. Only seems to get me insults these days. No one seems to have that appreciation for high fashion, y’know?” Thomas waves it off, and then stops when he sees Hamilton’s face. 

For the first time in their entire interaction, there is a quiet. Impenetrable silence, and a weight is over it so heavy you could feel it. 

Like always, Hamilton is the first to break it, “But… you’re bushyhead.” It is said with such melancholy, such utter loss that Thomas is transfixed to Hamilton’s face, which is shocked and solemn and all the things Jefferson had never thought he would ever see.

“I…” Jefferson’s jaw is hanging open, because he was really quite off guard. “I did not think you had such an attachment to my hair.”

Whatever seemed to have been troubling Hamilton had resolved, as his face hardened into one of utmost determination in a way that either settled dread so deep into Jefferson’s psyche he had to take a break then and there or set an admiration so deep it left him breathless. This seemed to do both.

“You will not cut your hair. I demand it,” Hamilton orders, childlike arrogance in his frame as he borderline refused anything else. 

Good thing Jefferson didn’t feel much like arguing with it. Afterall, he had been considering cutting it because he thought Hamilton would like it. Apparently, he was very wrong, and now Thomas had to look back on everything Hamilton seemed vehemently opposed to before and wonder if those things too Hamilton secretly liked.

“Fine,” Jefferson says, not letting through how shocked the whole ordeal made him. He continued, a calm indifference, “I won't cut it.”

A visible tenseness seemed to melt away in Hamilton’s muscles as he went back to sipping his coffee. “Good. I mean, if you did that then I’d have to change my contact name for you.”

Jefferson faltered and looked back up to see Hamilton smiling slyly. “Wh-” his eyes widened. “My contact name for you is  _ bushyhead?” _

“Yeah? Got a problem with that?” Alexander asks, leaning back.

Jefferson rolls his eyes, knowing there wasn’t much he could do. Typical Hamilton, he hisses to himself. Thomas looks back to observe the other haughtily sipping away, critical as another thought struck him. 

“Y’know, when you said breakfast I was imagining more than coffee,” Thomas says in reference to Hamilton’s single solitary coffee, of which he kindly noted Alexander loading up with a buttload of sugar. 

Hamilton glances up, surprised, like that wasn’t what he’d expected Jefferson to say at all, before observing his coffee in interest. “Welp, looks like it is.”

Thomas continues to stare critically. Perhaps _ this _ is why Hamilton managed to stay so small. Jefferson knew he didn’t have much money, but he expected him to at least be properly fed. “Y’know, before when I was talking about buying for you, I wasn’t really that opposed to-” 

“No,” Hamilton cuts in, shaking his head. Jefferson witnesses as a cold hard wall comes up between them. “I’m good.” 

Thomas begs to differ, but he’d rather not push it now, not when things were going so good. He curses to himself; Or have they already fallen from such former high spirits? He should’ve known when he first suggested it before, and Hamilton had behaved so rashly, that it was a tender spot for whatever reason. It seemed like whatever groove they had been in before was long lost now. 

Couldn’t hurt to try though, right?

“So, hair and coffee aside-” Alex looked up, guarded but still interested. Thomas stopped. He hadn’t actually thought about what he was gonna say. Alexander stared expectantly. “Uh… Let’s talk about something else?”

Hamilton continued to look at him like ‘what the hell’, and Jefferson died a little inwards, but it did spur some more conversation, “Ok,” Hamilton says, matter of fact. “Then let’s talk about the real reason I wanted to talk to you.” He leans forward, calculating. “Why was it you don’t think John Jay is my secret admirer?” 

Oh. Oh shit. Jefferson’d hoped that’d just been some illusion- some weird, sickness driven dream. But no. He had said it. And there was no denying it now. He began to wish he’d just left their conversation at that- a dead silence.

Jefferson struggled for what to say.

“Well… what makes _ you _ think it’s him?”

Hamilton stared at him, a sheer ‘really?’ look on his face as Jefferson looked back, a clear ‘I don’t know why I said that either’ look to his petrified inner state as well. 

“Well…” Hamilton starts, leaning back, “I know it’s a person either in our year and older, because they know Laf.” Jefferson’s mind reeled. He  _ had _ said he’d known Laf. It took him a moment, but soon full realization crashed over him. He was so impressed with this deduction, in fact, that he found it rather hard to hate that Hamilton was now one step closer to his identity. “And John Jay’s in our year, and seems like a reasonable enough guy, so why wouldn’t I suspect him?”

It made sense. Thomas knew it did, but it didn’t stop him from hating it either. This was supposed to be a good thing, that Hamilton was thrown off his trail, but instead Jefferson sat there angrily thinking about Alex possibly associating  _ his words _ to one of  _ them.  _ Jefferson had been lucky enough in the beginning to find his crush wasn’t one for dating, but now here Jefferson was putting Hamilton in a literal ‘ _ The Bachelor' _  type situation, getting pissed when Alexander observed other men. It was hypocritical. It was illogical- But it was what he was feeling, nonetheless.  

“So, I thought I would get to know him. Watch out for any similarities-”

Jefferson didn’t mean to let his irritation show in his tone, but it did, “Sounds _very_ effective.” 

Hamilton wavers at the sarcasm, his own annoyance taking over his tone, “Well then you help me then!” 

And so Thomas Jefferson seized the opportunity.

“Fine.”

Hamilton pauses on the seemingly tangent he was about to let loose. 

“What?”

“I’ll help you.”

Jefferson wasn’t sure if this was wise-

“I was kinda just talking rhetorically, before.” 

-but he was doing it anyways.

“You want to find this person or not?”

Hamilton bites his lip. “...I do.”

“Then you’ll need my input.”

Hamilton doesn’t even question why- question Jefferson's validity. It was so clear between the two of their abilities, that unspoken respect they held for each other always there. 

“Shake on it?” Alexander asks, already reaching out his hand.

Thomas nods, lifting up his hand.

“Shake on it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I fit in some pretty awesome historical fun facts into this one and I'm so proud. Thanks for reading, guys.


	10. Frozen Buns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hamilton drags Jefferson into a situation and the result is frozen ass cheeks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, the support I received last notice I gave you about my situation, just like… wow. You're all amazing. Thank you so much. Second, yay I'm back! Have everything planned out now. Definitely learned to plan ahead for next time. Emails are coming back into the mix, so you may wanna refresh a bit on them- Last email Hamilton berated Thomas for avoiding his questions in his last email (blue or red, coffee or tea, pepsi or cola, morning or night) Thank you all again, and I hope you enjoy!

_ Alexander, _

 

_ Ok, ok. I admit I was being unfair. Truth is I just prefer purple so much over the two other colors (compliments me), and since they combine to make purple I just figured it was an acceptable answer. I answered neither to coffee nor tea because I love both and I’m supposed to be restricting my intake right now, as I have one very concerned mother friend. I will say though that my ban has cut my spending in half, which is a plus. I believe I am now entitled to having my question properly answered now? _

 

_ Tru _

  
  


_____________

  
  


I’ve made a terrible mistake.

It wouldn’t be the first time, honestly, that Thomas Jefferson’s thought of that. And a surprising amount of them had to do with Alexander Hamilton, too, now that he thought about it. It would figure that this would happen, with Jefferson’s luck. It was only too hilarious that Hamilton would grab him by his overalls to investigate the ‘meeting’ that his apparent ‘secret admirer’ left in the club room this morning; A letter telling Hamilton he was ready to reveal his secret identity behind the theater room at, of course, some ungodly hour. Only thing was is that Jefferson _ knew _ this was untrue. Because  _ he _ was the secret admirer, actually, and unless he’d gotten blackout drunk last night and had just forgotten, he had sent no letter. He couldn’t, however, tell Hamilton this for obvious reasons, and so Jefferson, as Hamilton’s new ‘advisor’ in the search, had to knowingly walk into a hoax as back up.

“I’m a journalism major, I know what I’m doing.”

“And I’m a political science major, so I know this breaks some form of communal harmony-”

Hamilton wasn’t listening to him, though, and that, too, was all too familiar to Jefferson.

“Shouldn’t you be doing some preparation for competition? Hell, should we  _ both _ be doing some competition prep-  _ Agh!” _ A branch unceremoniously smacked Jefferson in the face after Hamilton pushed it rather inconsiderately. Brushing off the twig, and wincing in dread of the small red scratches undoubtedly littering his face by now, he looked on at a still unturned Alexander Hamilton. Thomas  _ knew _ the bastard was smirking, though. He felt it in his soul. “You did that on purpose,” Jefferson grumbled as he began to catch up with the other, who still did not respond. After a moment Thomas groans, sighing, “So… why again are we taking a back route… through the forest, might I add?”

“Never come in through the angle your enemy is expecting,” Hamilton replies, in complete seriousness.

Jefferson scoffs, chuckling a bit until Hamilton glares at him over his shoulder. Thomas’s grin falls. “You’re serious?” Alexander only turns back to look out in front of him. “I thought we were supposedly meeting your secret admirer out here, not your arch nemesis-”

“That’s exactly my point, though. The key word being  _ supposedly _ . Those fliers were everywhere. Anyone could’ve picked that up and chosen to fuck with me.”

“Hey, I’m the one who said we shouldn’t do this in the first place.”

“And why are you so sure?” Hamilton snaps, fierceness in his eyes as they stare Thomas down.

Jefferson tenses up, removing his eyes from Hamilton’s, before then second guessing, rebounding with his own fierceness- fighting fire with fire; James would be so disappointed with him. “Why are  _ you?” _

Hamilton’s jaw opens, a retort hot on his tongue, but then the moment passes and Hamilton clamps his mouth shut, eyes calculated. “I don’t think it’s him, actually.”

Surprise takes Jefferson, but also, just slightly, warm relief, and then curiosity. “How so?”

“Guys been emailing me for weeks now and once he finally wants to meet up he does so through a letter?” Hamilton’s obviously been thinking about this; his eyes give it away with how they drift off. Jefferson had noticed that; it was a touch endearing and sometimes maddening. Hamilton had a funny way of going off into his own world exactly at the time when Thomas needed him here, on the ground, paying attention to him.

Jefferson, shrugs, feigning quite believable indifference, “Maybe he thinks it’s more personal that way.”

“Hmm,” Hamilton hums back, still looking unconvinced.

A quiet settles in, the crunching of branches, snow, and wildlife singing in the night the only noises. It’s a peaceful, and quite wonderful night now that Thomas took the time to notice. Jefferson admired the sky above him. The view was just maybe worth the whole situation he’d been dragged into. And despite the fact that they were here for a very unconventional reason, walking beside one another, Jefferson found he was quite happy that they were just that; together, and on such a lovely night.

That is, until Jefferson found himself almost face planting into muddy sticks again. “Jesus!” Hamilton had grabbed him by the arm, and yanked him down quite forcefully. “What the he-”

“Shh!” Alex hisses, still holding his arm quite tightly. For such a small man, he had quite a grip. Alexander’s eyes scan about in front of them where Thomas can now see that the forest had lead them to the desired parking lot behind the theater- the meeting place. “We’ll stay hidden here- Wait for whoever shows up.”

“Um, why-? Ow- God, let go already!” Jefferson whispers now, yanking his arm back and flying back onto his butt with the momentum. Thomas represses a whimper; these pants were new. And expensive.

Hamilton rolls his eyes, sitting himself down cross legged. “It’ll give us some control. We can know what we’re up against before they know what they’re up against.”

Jefferson, honestly, didn’t feel much like arguing. He could just bite his lip and bare it through Alexander’s entire excursion. But also, he did feel it was a good plan. Seeing as Jefferson, being of some particular knowledge, knew that whomever had sent that letter earlier this morning was indeed  _ not  _ the admirer, apprehension was even bigger on his part.

His mind dazed with possibilities; Could be some muggers, pranksters. Best case scenario it was some dick who just wanted to be a dick, making someone’s life harder, this being Hamilton and by default now him, by making them meet up at some Godforsaken hour just to let them be stood up and have hopes crushed. Worst case scenario… an impersonator.

Jefferson shivers, telling himself it was just the chill of sitting in literal ice.

...What would Thomas even do in that situation? If someone just showed up, said they were  _ him _ , and then tried to take advantage of Hamilton using this persona?... What  _ could _ he do? Would Hamilton even listen to him? How could he come up with some valid reason, other than revealing that really  _ he’s _ -

“Aye, stop looking so miserable.”

Jefferson stares at Hamilton who rather hypocritically also looked very miserable. Irritation nipped at him. Drag  _ him _ out here, in this  _ blasted _ cold, and then  _ dare _ to tell him- “Why do you care?”

“It’s annoying me.”

Hamilton had the ability to utterly gobsmack him sometimes- and this was one of those times. Alexander was just one of those of complete lack of sense, just blurted out whatever felt right, and then damn be all logic to it.

“Could say the same for you,” Jefferson snides back, half wanting to stick his tongue out.  

To his surprise, however, instead of taunting along with Jefferson Hamilton breaks out of his grumpy state and grins a bit, laughing slightly under his breath as he looks away. Jefferson stares, frozen to the spot… almost literally. Thomas, wincing, shifts his butt a bit. Yes, it is quite frozen, and Hamilton’s… odd behavior is not helping. He was still quite annoyed.

Thomas looks hesitantly over to Alexander, then back front, back to Alex, then back front. He let’s out a sigh as he shifts his poor, expensive-and-ruined-ass again. Jefferson spots Alexander’s eye twitch from the corner of his eyes and smiles, before again sighing at his situation. He looks down to his watch.

“Well, it’s passed the meet time.”

“I’m aware.”

“I nominate that we put you out there as bait.” Alex looks over at him, unamused. “Or at least do something,” Thomas prods; he wanted to get this done with, or at least find a drier patch to sit his butt down on. “Maybe they have the same idea as we do and hiding somewhere in another bush is your admirer just waiting for you to show up.”

“They wouldn’t need to be hiding if they didn’t have ill intentions,” Hamilton pressed stubbornly. Jefferson sighs yet again, resting his face into his knee caps. Right when he’d begun to feel comfortable, however, Hamilton was at it again. “Alright, let’s go.” A telling crunch of sticks indicated Alexander had stood, and was pushing through the bushes.

Jefferson can’t help it, his head pops up in hope. “Home?”

“ _ No _ ,” Hamilton sternly replies, walking out onto the clearing.

Jefferson groans, tempted to just settle back into his kneecaps, but the look of the concrete, where Thomas spotted one tempting looking curb with a lack of snow, called to him. With a yawn Thomas stretched his long limbs out of their cramped state, rising and stumbling through some bushes, making Hamilton laugh on the side. Jefferson glanced at him with a glare, but he was more concerned with getting to that curb. Finally reaching there, he plops back down, draws his long legs in working like blankets, and rests his forehead once again onto his knees.

A crunching noise picks up soon after that, a scratch on pavement with friction, and after a moment of it continuing non-stop Jefferson finally gets curious enough to look up to see what it is. Before him is Alexander Hamilton, pacing like a madman. Jefferson stares, raising a brow at Alexander’s familiar, anxious antics.

“Y’know, drilling a hole through the ground may not be the best tactic for getting this admirer to show up. But that’s just my opinion.”  

“Shut up,” Hamilton says, and Jefferson gladly does; he’s much too exhausted.

Despite Hamilton’s former statement the scuffling does stop, and Jefferson enjoys a peace and quiet for some time. After a while there’s a shuffling beside him, and Thomas looks up. Hamilton’s there, sat beside him, looking up at the sky. His eyes are off, biting his lip, wide awake with thought.

“How are you not tired?” Thomas asks, not really intending it to sound as patronizing as it was. He was actually genuinely curious, afterall.

“Used to staying up late,” Hamilton responds, and surprisingly honest.

“Probably shouldn’t do that,” Thomas adds, wincing at his own self.

Hamilton’s previous mildness evaporates, and Jefferson mourns the loss. “Is now really the time for-” Alex cuts off, disgusted with his own words and scoffs as he turns away. Thomas knows it’s not just him causing this attitude; Hamilton’s frustrated with their situation. Maybe with competition around the corner- maybe it  _ is _ just him- maybe a combination of all those things.

Jefferson feels the need to soothe him, despite everything. “Maybe he’s held up by something.”

“Maybe ‘he’ doesn’t exist and this is all for nothing.”

Jefferson looks at Hamilton inquiringly. “What do you mean?”

Hamilton chooses not to answer. The conversation abruptly holds for a second. Hamilton’s eyes narrow in pin-point accurate judgment.

“Maybe he's just a pussy.”

“Maybe he's  _ human.” _

Hamilton snaps upright. “You sure are defensive,” he deadpans, looking over at Jefferson calculatingly. Jefferson’s heart drops under the suspicious eye. “Sure it's not someone you'd want to... protect? Madison, maybe?”

His heart lightens a bit. Hamilton still wouldn't even  _ consider  _ it being him. The feeling was relieving and yet heart breaking.

“I'm pretty damn sure it's not him, Hams.”

Alex punches him slightly. “Don't call me Hams.”

They’re arguing, but both smiling at this point, and the two let the conversing die off there as they both stare outward at the lamp poles and twinkling stars. Jefferson didn’t feel very tired anymore, and again he enjoyed it; just being together- together on a wonderful night. Despite what they were here for, Jefferson was just glad it put them together. Because he quite enjoyed Hamilton’s company, be it with a frozen ass or not.

It’s about an hour later when Hamilton’s patience wears thin- which is quite remarkable, really. Where the hell had all this patience come from all of a sudden? And at  _ this _ time?  _ Really?  _ Not one of the dozen other times where they needed Hamilton to  _ wait the hell up _ and instead now for a mysterious admirer Jefferson  _ knew _ wasn't going to show up because the  _ Goddamn admirer you’ve been waiting for Hamilton has been sitting right here beside you for an hour the entire time- _

“Welp, it’s cold, and I'm tired, and whoever did this is an asshole so-” Hamilton’s eyes dropped to his. “-you're dismissed.”

Jefferson sighs, righting up as well. “You know this is a favor I'm doing for you, right?”

“Nope. You shook on helping me. This is officially a business deal.”

“I'm not sure it works like that...”

Alexander seemed uninterested in continuing the conversation, however, and so was walking away curtly.

“Where are you going?”

“Dorm.”

Jefferson stands, heart leaping a bit as he quickens his pace to catch up with the fast in retreat Hamilton. “Isn't that on the other side of town? You have a ride?” Hamilton is walking far too fast, and so Jefferson steps in front of him, cutting him off. "Hey!"

“I don't believe it's any of your business," Alex mutters, attempting to slip by while Jefferson, with much longer limbs, easily contains him.  

“It's my business if someone jumps you. Heck, maybe whoever lured you out here saw me and is just waiting for me to leave you alone.”

Hamilton wouldn't admit it, but that struck him uneasy. Yet he was so stubborn he wouldn't admit to it, silent. Irritation pinched at Thomas by that of Alexander Hamilton's will for not the first or last time as he exasperatedly combed his hair back.

“At least let me get you an uber.”

For a second Thomas thought Alex was going to try to ignore him again, and Jefferson might just let him, he was being such a brat. Yet hesitantly Hamilton looked up... 

“Fine.”

  
  


_____________

  
  


_ Tru, _

 

_ I know what you mean by ‘mother friend’; feels like all my friends get that way with me. Can’t help that I sometimes neglect things I shouldn’t. But really, I’m not a child. Figure they enable me somewhat by reminding me of daily responsibilities. You’d be surprised with how long you can go without eating. I guess you do deserve a proper answer now, don’t you? I’d say… probably a dog. _

 

_ Hams _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter was originally much longer but I ended up splitting it. Sorry about that. Uploads are now back on schedule, every week, Sunday, at no particular time- We're back in business!


	11. Drink to That

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Both James-being-a-good-friend and a bar's second appearance!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I got this super awesome review and they mentioned their birthday was on Saturday- Thus I chose to update a day early. Happy Birthday, sashawish!

They sit down again after Jefferson calls him an uber, Hamilton resolutely silent and Jefferson peacefully pleased. 

It’s not much longer, however, until Hamilton begins fidgeting. It starts with his hands, grasping at one another, cracking knuckles and Jefferson tries to restraint himself from commenting; He’s said enough baby-ing things for one night. But then his hands switch to tapping about on the concrete, something which makes much more noise. Then his feet are tapping, his eyes are darting side to side, biting his lip-

Thomas sucks in a large breath. “So!” Hamilton freezes. “Lovely evening tonight, don’t you think?”

“It’s cold as balls,” Hamilton puts simply, raising a brow. 

This bitch. 

Thomas covers his groan with a cough, awkwardly looking aside. Jefferson then tries ignoring the other beside him, who now took to tapping again. Something’s building up inside Hamilton, however, as he grew more and more sassy throughout the night. This was now overflowing, it seemed, into physical fidgeting. Finally he rights up, throwing his arms out and startling Jefferson off the curb. 

“Y’know what?” Jefferson stares at him like he’s a madman, because he is. “I could use a drink 

right now.” Jefferson stares at him a bit longer, but Hamilton doesn’t faulter in his statement. 

With a heaving sigh, Jefferson picks up his phone again.

  
  


______________

  
  


“Oddly convenient that there happens to be a bar right across the street. One would think you planned this, Hamilton.”

“Or my ‘secret admirer’. Anyways, If I were you I’d be more concerned that there happens to be a bar right across the street from a college building.” 

They’re seated at a not-so nice bar, but it’s friendly enough. It’s a sports bar and luckily nothing seemingly significant is playing because it’s borderline deserted. The waitress comes by and she’s wearing a bow in her hair, lips bright red, and is quite suspiciously chipper. 

Jefferson smiles pleasantly up at her as he shrugs off his large coat, rubbing at his arms to warm them up. “Tell me, at a place like this, would you have wines?”

“Sure do!” she says back, Hamilton eyes her cautiously as he, too, removes his coat. 

“Merlot?” 

“Good choice! And for you?” The girl turns to Hamilton, and he’s startled a bit as he’s caught off guard, and reflexively messes with the menu placed out on the table in front of him. 

“Oh… uh-” He says the first thing to come into his head, “Just ginger beer, please.” 

Her brow raises at this, but she nods. Hamilton is all eyes for Jefferson, however, as the man carries a much too amused grin. Alex stares daggers at him, and that only seems to amuse him more. Before Hamilton can confront him, however, Jefferson continues in a smooth leisure, “Packers, huh?” 

Hamilton has no idea what the hell he’s talking about at first, and so it is with the waitress as well, but then Jefferson nods to her jersey, an olive green, and the girl sparks back up. 

“Oh, yes! You a fan?”

“Mm, wish so. Think my father’s instilled that good ol’ Cavalier into me though.” 

The girl nods in understanding. “It is family tradition.”

“Tell me about it,” Jefferson chuckles, and for a beated silence the girl stands there, stunned to the spot, before suddenly realizing her stillness and laughing quite nervously, dancing off across the room with a hurried,  _ “I’ll get those drinks…” _

The two men watch her off, until Jefferson finally glances back over to Hamilton. 

“I thought you were feeling like a  _ drink?” _

Alex rolls his eyes, leaning back. “Shut up. It’s liquid, isn’t?” 

“Touch é ,” Jefferson mumbles, looking off. 

Alexander stays looking at him though, eyebrows creasing. “I didn’t know you were a sports guy.”

“I’m not.” 

Hamilton’s brows narrow even more in confusion. “Then... why-?”

“Here you are!” The waitress returns, setting both their drinks to the table. Hamilton grasps his small copper cup, twisting the straw around restlessly. “Filled it half, if you need more-”

“I’ll ring you,” Jefferson finished for her, sending yet another charm inducing smile her way. Hamilton held himself back from choking comically in disgust. “Thank you, ma’am,”

“No problem, and…” the waitress pauses, winks slightly, “this one’s on the house.” And then she saunters off once again.

Hamilton looks up in shock after her, eyes wide. He looks back to Jefferson, who’s smugly taking a sip. “...Oh.  _ That’s _ why.”

“Yup,” Thomas states simply back, twirling the wine glass a bit in his hands. 

“You are an... evil man, Jefferson.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t call me  _ that.” _

“You’re manipulative,” Hamilton pushes, glaring as he sips at his fizzy drink some more. Despite his company’s judgment, ginger beer  _ did _ taste good.  

“I think it’s a pretty fair trade off,” Jefferson defends, throwing up his long legs to lay on the cushion and leaning on the booth’s side. “I get free alcohol and she-” he takes a languid sip, “my  _ charming _ company.”  

“Pft,” Hamilton huffs, rolling his eyes. If there ever was a more narcissistic asshole… 

“This ginger beer’s good. I don’t care what you say,” Alex mumbles, taking off the lime. He’s had a rather bad experience with limes and lemons of the sort before. Now the fruits nearly gave him PTSD.

“Sure it is,” Jefferson continues with his holier-than-thou air. 

Was it just Hamilton, or does wine make douchebags about ninety times more douchey?

Alex chooses not to converse further than that, rather let his full attention be claimed by his drink, which he was withheld by, to an outsider’s perspective, concerningly so. And after a few minutes went by, soft clinking filling the dimly lit atmosphere, Jefferson finally strayed enough from his own indulgence to notice Hamilton’s quietness.

Jefferson observed, eyes relaxing easily on Alex’s familiar frame, the young man staring worriedly into his cup. Despite the anxiousness Alexander tended to give off, Thomas always found himself quite weirdly comfortable around him. Jefferson reminisced in amusement; observing Hamilton was much like watching the panic of a mother when she’s realized she’s burned the turkey on Thanksgiving day, and the kitchen is now aflame. And yet, Thomas could stare without a care in the world. 

And then Hamilton started the tapping again. It was quite clear to Jefferson now that there must be something on Alexander’s mind, because he would never so consistently do it just out of sheer impatience. And if that didn’t indicate it to him, then Hamilton’s biting of his lip did. Many a time Thomas had witnessed the tell-tale worry-concentration lip of Alexander Hamilton, and never had he done it without something bugging his mind.

Thomas let him tap about a little longer before finally breaking his peace, “You should get a fidget spinner.”

Hamilton froze, eyebrows raising. “Uh… what?”

“A fidget spinner. You can mess with it- gives your hands something to do.”

Alex stares at him critically. “I think I tried something like that… a- stress ball? Didn’t work. I broke it.”

Thomas had to stop himself from laughing at that; If Hamilton thought he was making fun of him he wouldn’t get anywhere. 

“No, this one’s hard. It won't break.” Or, at least, Jefferson would be quite impressed if he did.

Hamilton didn’t seem intrigued, however, eyes snapping away before again whatever seemed to be bothering him before took up busy space. Jefferson itched to have the attention back on him again. 

“What’s a matter?” 

Hamilton’s eyes switched back to him again, surprisingly unreadable. He was probably testing him- searching for his intentions. Jefferson tried to relent it all back; a genuine curiosity and concern. Alex looked away, and for a second Jefferson thought he’d not passed Hamilton’s assessment, and slumped back in defeat, but then- “It’s just…”

Jefferson looked up, surprised but happy to see that Hamilton was seemingly about to let him in. 

“I mean, I knew, somehow, it wasn’t him, y’know?” Hamilton gasped out, frustration clear on his face. Alex looks over at Thomas, and somehow, the pure concentration of emotion left him paralyzed to the spot, wide eyes and all as Hamilton continued his rant, “But I’m still- just-  _ disappointed, _ y'know?” Hamilton sighed, propping his cheek up with his palm. Thomas nodded along dumbly. “Who would even do that? They didn't even  _ do _ anything! There was no point. Unless the point was to put me on edge like this, and if so- and even if  _ not  _ so, why am I getting so worked up about it? It doesn’t matter that much.” Hamilton crosses his arms, and with what Jefferson dare say a pout on his lips.

“Right?” he whispers, unsure. 

Jefferson wants to answer, he really does. But he kinda just sits there and continues watching- frozen and doing nothing.

“Sometimes I feel like this is just some…” Hamilton struggles to find the words, expressing even through his hands his clenched aggravation, “- _ prank _ that-that everyone’s in on but  _ me. _ And this whole thing’s not even real, and really I shouldn’t even bother with it but-” Hamilton groans, laying back, head tipped up to the wall. 

A silence presses in.  

“I’ve just never been told I was liked like that so I’m just… conflicted, I guess. Right now. Wh-” Alex starts up, his wondered gaze sparking back up into his usual mojo. “Why am I telling you this? _Ahem-”_ Hamilton clears his throat, obviously caught off guard by his own ramblings. 

Jefferson stares at him in bewilderment, digesting still the shock that overcame him. If he had known how much it would effect Hamilton to do something like this, maybe he would have stopped it all sooner. Heck, no matter what he should have ended this whole thing way sooner. He could end it right now, all the uncertainties. All the mixed and unkempt insecurities he was putting Alex through. He was gonna do it. It was the least he could do. Or...

“I think…” Alex looked up at him, “you need a _ real drink,” _ Jefferson states. Before Hamilton can say anything else, Jefferson’s calling on the waitress. “Ma’am! Mind bringing that whole bottle over please? And an extra glass, as well?”

Or… they could just block it all out and drown in the sorrows. That sounded a lot less complicated and worrisome and nerve-wracking. Maybe if he was lucky, he’d get blackout drunk and forget this had ever happened. 

Damn him.

  
  


______________

  
  
  


‘What the fuck even’ was Jefferson’s first thought the next day. In a delirium, he fumbled about to turn off an alarm that his half incapacitated mind still didn’t even know what the fuck was, and by sheer unconscious habit happened to reach to turn off.

After laying there a moment his heartbeat slowed from the panic of  _ what the hell is that where am I- _ to finally observe all his pains and aches he was too lazy to do anything about, yet not lazy enough to not complain about. 

His headache hit him first, then the throat which scratched like sandpaper, then the seemingly thousand weights put on his limbs. But nothing called to him more then that tell-tale bowel movement. 

Pelting up, not really caring much still that he still had no idea where he was, he went, once again by sheer unconscious motor skills, straight to his bathroom to relieve himself. He sighs once he’s finished, the night and coming day finally catching back up to him. He groans as he washes his hands, bracing himself as he cups the faucet water to splash into his face. 

The aqua hits like rays of inevitable consciousness and it’s with a new face now that he looks into the mirror, bloodshot eyes meeting bloodshot eyes, stern grimace matching his hateful innards.

It’s gonna be a long day. 

  
  


______________

  
  


It was that morning that Thomas spotted Alexander Hamilton again, and it appeared he was off no better than he. 

Hamilton had made a nest of his seat since this morning, clothed in a baggy grey sweat shirt, legs coddled in an olive blanket, and another navy one hooding his head. The navy blanket, however, did no good with covering his wild hair which was pinned unsuccessful in a top bun. Patches were loose, and very, very tangled. He looked unwashed and newly risen, but in the zombie way rather than a ‘Christ rises from his tomb with glowy lights and a choir singing’ type of way. His dead attention is fully wrapped up in his computer where he clacks away on the keyboard, papers and books surrounding him, along with a few stray and empty cups of caffeine. He looks, quite frankly, like a crack addict. The sight was quite humorous, honesty, and fabled among many in the Debate club as Hamilton’s monthly ‘rehabilitation’ in which he nourishes in his soft cocoon in order to regenerate livelier and with fresh ideas. Jefferson recollects that Franklin made a chart of it somewhere… the ‘Natural Cycle of Alexander Hamilton’ he called it.

“How was last night?” 

“Ok then, seriously regretting now,” Jefferson responds, groaning as he collapses back and begins to massage his temples. 

The two friends sat directly across the semicircle from Hamilton, their traditional spot. All around them was the usual students in the room- doing their usual things. The only thing that went off unexpectedly was that Hamilton hadn’t greeted him aggressively at the door. And Thomas didn’t seem so eager to pester him. 

“You guys drank?” Madison asks in disbelievement, laughing slightly. 

“Yes. And quite a bit.”

“You weren’t driving, were you?”

Leave it to Madison to go all mother hen now. 

“Got an uber. Have to walk over to that bar again today to fetch my car…” Jefferson groans in dread. “Though God knows I don’t want to.”

“I’ll come with you.”

“Thanks.” 

“Maybe we could catch a few drinks there while we’re at it, too.”

“N-No drinks-” Thomas rights up, looks into Madison’s eyes with a deadpan seriousness, “Never again.”

“That’s what they all say,” James says with a smirk, causing Thomas to roll his eyes and lean back in his uncomfortable plastic seat.

”Yeah, yeah,” Thomas waves him off, laying an arm across his face to block out the fluorescent light. “God these lights- I swear they dry the brain out or something.”

“So what happened with the whole secret admirer thing?” Madison asks, probably looking back down to his phone which he was on before Thomas showed up. 

“It was a bust. As expected.” Madison nods. After a few moments of contemplation, Jefferson lifts up, sighing, but creased in the brow in speculating wonder. “Still slightly worried about that phony sender, though… I mean-” Jefferson stops as he makes eye contact with his friend. Madison stares back. Jefferson also stares. It takes one comprehensive moment…  _ “You didn’t.” _

“Hey, I had to get something going! God knows you wouldn’t take the first step-”

“I can’t believe you would-” Thomas quiets himself, shaking his head and digging his fingers even further into his temples. He growls in remembrance, “Doesn’t help Hamilton’s little theory that it's  _ you.” _

Madison’s eyes widen as he leans in further, far too amused by this news for Jefferson’s taste. “Really? He think it’s  _ me?”  _ Thomas reluctantly nods.  _ “Why?” _

“Because I get defensive when we talk about the whole secret admirer thing- thinks I’m trying to protect you.”

Madison is full out laughing now. “And he still hasn’t even…?”

Jefferson grumbles in resentful endearment, “Nope, as far as I’m concerned, hasn’t even once  _ considered _ it might be me.”

“That’s too good.”

Jefferson lets Madison own his moments of bliss, laughing off into faint chuckles meanwhile as Thomas inner reflects on all he’s done in his life to end up at this point. 

Jefferson, averse still to the very thought, “I… still can’t believe you sent that letter.”

With an easy and a bit apologetic smile Madison spreads his hands out in surrender. “Hey, it worked, did it not?” 

“I'm effectively getting ignored, actually.” Jefferson crosses his arms grudgingly. 

“But you're bonding?” 

Thomas looks over at the subject of their conversation, and as if he can sense the eyes on him, Hamilton looks up from his crumpled stupor. They lock eyes, and without a second thought, Alex flips him the bird before looking back at his work.

Jefferson turns back to Madison, who observed the transaction with a judgmental look. Yet Jefferson, with light consideration, smiles a bit.  

“Y’know what?... I think so.”

  
  


______________

  
  


Thomas Jefferson isn’t too sure what inspired it. Perhaps because, despite he he being unwilling to admit it, James was right and he was at a stand still he needed to break. Or maybe because he was just curious and heck, anonymity just made everything so more tempting to try out. Or… because maybe he’s gotten to know Hamilton a little better these past weeks, and saw something a bit different in him; How everything was never as it seems with Alexander Hamilton involved, and the fiercest hate didn’t say anything about his care for the same person. So Jefferson just wanted to try, to take the risk- What’d he have to lose?

The answer was a lot of things, but Thomas tried not to think about it too hard.  

_ Ham, _

 

_ I would definitely say that as well; I think it speaks a lot to your spirit, that dog nature. But you wouldn’t be a dog, per say. I’d say you’re more like a puppy. Anyways, though I guess I’m breaking the rules a bit here, I’d like to ask you another question. What do you think about Thomas Jefferson? _

 

_ Tru _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Go Packers!


	12. Drink To That Pt.2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Competition is on the horizon, and the drinking is not over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, support for my absence has been phenomenal. So lucky to have such an understanding group of readers.  
> DISCLAIMER! So… From here on out, don’t take these details of debate competition as fact, because I really just made it up as I go from what I do know and found on the internet. Let’s just say whatever mistakes I’ve undoubtedly made in properly representing the debate competition crowd is under the protection of liberty with fiction and this is an alternate universe in which what I say goes.  
> AH TOO MUCH TALKING. Enjoy!

_ Tru, _

 

 

_ I'm sorry, Thomas  _ fucking _ Jefferson? Really? What for? Well, if you wanted to get me talking, you've certainly pressed the right buttons. But really, that's an odd thing to ask. Why? _

 

 

_ A.Ham _

 

 

______________

 

 

They always did it at Washington’s house. It was like a tradition, if you will. Hamilton knew before the others, having conversed with the staff beforehand, and revealed the prompt like some grand event with all the team members huddled in pajamas, snacks provided, and then once he’d announced it they’d stay up the whole night brainstorming, researching, all that kind of crap.

Right now Hamilton stood before them upright with importance, though it contrasted quite comically with his less than proper appearance, laden in navy sweatpants and the school’s pullover.  Jefferson, being the fashion junky he was, had, of course, commented with a raise eyebrow,  _ “Do you even own anything else?” _

Hamilton jerked the paper a bit to straighten it, peering up with a small smirk at the occupants of the room who stared in anticipation. If he waited any longer, it was sure they’d start to whine. “Ladies and Gentlemen…” he began, only to be interrupted.

“There’s no ladies here… unfortunately,” John Hancock mutters from the ground, hugging a pillow.

A startled gasp sounded as everyone looked to Franklin, whose hand was braced on his chest in false horror. “Did-Did you just assume my gender?”

Hancock nodded back solemnly. “My apologies, ma’am.”

_ “Ahem,”  _ Hamilton reaffirmed, raising a brow warningly at the two who stood down. Alexander re-establishes his position again at the front, looking down to the paper proudly. “Progressive tax policies have always been based on the idea that wealthy individuals should pay more, in proportion to their means. A specific question within this idea is whether they should pay more specifically in order to reduce inequality and lift-up poorer classes. Proposition; Narrowing the gap between rich and poor is more important than overall economic growth.”

There was a quiet as this settled in. Contemplative looks were exchanged before, as usual, Washington broke the silence, his voice a soothing ring throughout the room, “First we need to know what their points are.”

“Right,” Hamilton confirmed, nodding as he pulled off the cap of his pen to start writing.

“Taking away money loses the motivation to make money,” Washington says, standing up to cross the room.

“Exactly.” Hamilton nods vehemently after his retreating back.

“Communism,” Burr states, also nodding along.

“And they'll definitely bring up not equality, but equal opportunity,” Jefferson adds on from his spot on the couch, of where he had trapped several members with his long legs.

“Which we can switch up on them. Poverty prevents equal opportunity,” Franklin cuts in.

“We just have to prove it.”

A simmering heat of excitement lit within the group as grave seriousness paved to creeping smiles. Washington turns from the shelf in which he was pouring himself a drink, looking at the other men of the group with a knowing smirk. “We know what to do, then.”

 

 

______________

 

 

What followed was only nature. It was the best of times, and yet the worst of times. Nearly every waking moment outside of regular classes was spent in debate. Meetings at cafes, libraries, and the club room were expected at least four times a week, and there wasn't many weeks. Two, in fact. When there wasn't a meeting, they were there anyways. Fits of arguing ensured so intense they were throwing books at each other, and then the next second they were crying in each other's arms.

For Hamilton, however, it was always a good day. He was in his true element, anchored down to textbooks and internet sources. Spending every other moment talking with other team members, but mostly Washington. And actually, Jefferson as well. It seemed for the cause of debate Hamilton made friends with anyone... Well, professionally, anyways.

Thomas still enjoyed it though. No more books were thrown in a conversation thus far that exceeded the amount in a Hamilton and Jefferson argument. Not even Franklin and Hancock, and they got into conversation just  _ to _ throw books. It made for some of the best comebacks in Private Eagle Debate history. Never before did Jefferson think they posed such a good digesting period or preparation. With Hamilton constantly on his ass about  _ every little thing, _ talking to some other school about politics was a walk in the park. Annoying as hell, but still effective.

“You're an idiot if you think this argument can stay inside the US.”

“No I'm not,” Thomas hisses, voice going more venomous as his words carried on. He hadn't even asked for it this time; Hamilton, like always, had just up and invited himself into his business. “We don’t want to go too broad.”

Alexander was flamed up though, his eyes dilating tenfold with Jefferson's last statement. Thomas cringed back as Alex slammed his fists into the table, his utmost heated passion concentrated into his eyes, glaring lasers through Jefferson's face.

“What are you talking about?!” Alex throws his hands up. “You're kidding me?” he asks, exasperated, combing his hair back and actually looking genuinely speechless at Jefferson's 'stupidity'.

Jefferson's mouth slacks, defensive and more angry now about the attack on his character rather than their actual disagreement. Broody, he simply crosses his arms and leans back, offering only an unamused brow lift.

Alexander retains his focus, cursing with the finest vigor, “This argument is outside the States. Defense is bringing it out of the States, no matter what you think; to the communist system. The best trail and error is history. But you know what we have?”

Thomas doesn't say a thing, guarded and unwilling to listen and yet still he was, because he couldn't bring himself to speak.

_“Global depression,”_ Hamilton breathes, making an emphasis so clear in his eyes it made Thomas shiver. “Do you know what percent of the world is impoverished, compared to the people who can afford basic needs? Much less _education?”_ Jefferson's tension lets go, as does Hamilton's walls as he raves, “Them-” Alex points out, accusatory and vicious. “-they've got Russia. Us?” He stops his insistent pacing to look into Jefferson's eyes. “We've got the _world.”_

It sits. Jefferson releases the breath he didn't realize he was holding, his heart thumping without his consent. It was these types of things; When Alex stripped away the brave face and let his pure passion take hold. It attracted Thomas, and others, to him so completely. He could convince Jefferson to jump off a cliff honestly, if he really wanted to. The persuasiveness was not controlled, but that's exactly what made it so deadly.

The heat cools off, Hamilton finally sort of realizing his extravagance as his face twists and goes a bit red, sitting quickly and going back to his book. “But uh- yeah.” He clears his throat. 

“I’ll take the insight,” Thomas amends, looking calmly and reassuringly into Alexander’s eyes. They continue looking at each other a moment, something they’d always done that proved to one another a mutual understanding so pure even Hamilton wouldn’t deny it. 

Alex ducks his head down. “Whatever.” He chews on his pencil before resuming tapping it.

Jefferson continues to stare, thoughts clicking into place. He had an idea.  

 

______________

 

 

They were just dispersing after having a meeting at a coffee shop. The frost was light today, the sun now making longer appearances. It was quite beautiful out, truthfully. Hamilton was slipping on his bag, one of the last to leave as usual. Washington had left earlier because of some important dinner, so it was ending a bit early. 

Hamilton, however, was still high on thought. He was meant to have finished up some paperwork for the upcoming weekend, but had become distracted with everyone talking around him. Usually he could blank them out quite easily, but as soon as Jefferson probed him enough with enough ‘very much wrong’ information Alex was just as bratty as the rest of them. 

Jefferson winced. Maybe he should have let Hamilton do his own thing, given that now he was surly to spend all night doing it now. He didn’t understand why Alex didn’t just let their ‘club supervisor’ deal with it, as it was meant to be. All debate related things however were so entirely run by students, they simply got some random trustworthy teacher to sign and then parted ways. The teacher was so barely present Thomas wasn’t entirely sure who’d they gotten to sign this year. 

Taking a deep breath, he made his way up to Hamilton, and with no elegance simply jutted his hand forward. “Here.”

Alex looks over, surprised by the suddenness, until he finally looks downward. “What’s this?” he asks, lifting the object from his hand and staring at it curiously yet critically. 

“A fidget spinner. Noticed you’d been tapping again, and I mean, now more than ever, so...” Thomas shuffles his feet a bit as Hamilton’s scrutinizing gaze flicks over to him.

“How does it work?” he asks tentatively. 

Jefferson tries not to beam too obviously as he quickly runs Hamilton through the steps, laughing every once in awhile as Alex nearly flings it into a neighboring customer’s latte. After a few awkward tries, Alex is finally flicking the spinner about, observing its addictive swing. 

“Now you won't be so fidgety anymore. At least, not in the annoying way when you’re tapping up a symphony.”

Alexander glares at him, shoving the device into his pocket. “Yeah, maybe I’ll use it.” He begins to shuffle for the door.

“Hey, they’re kinda pricey, y’know!” Jefferson calls after him.

Hamilton only offers him a sideway glance, smirking. “I said  _ maybe.”  _

 

 

______________

 

 

_ Alexander, _

 

_ No particular reason. I suppose I just noticed you two hanging out more than usual; wanted to know what you thought about him. I mean, I think he's a pretty cool guy, but you've always been a bit different with him. _

 

_ Tru _

 

 

______________

 

 

“Furthermore, lessening the wage gap would not only benefit the poor, but also rich. With greater incomes the poor are less likely to resort to-”

“What's that?” Angelica asks, eyes glued to his hand.

“Huh?” Hamilton perks up, looking disoriented from being tugged out from his groove.

“That,” she reaffirms, nudging her head forwards.

Hamilton looks to his side, where his hand flicked lazily onward a spinner. He had been using it so often now it became almost second nature to him, something that felt so in tune with his body, it was not more noticeable or expected to be there than his limbs.

“A... fidget spinner, I believe?” Now both he and her were observing it as he brought up a finger to flick it faster. Satisfied, Hamilton looked back down to the file in front of him. “So anyways-”

“Where did you get it?' Angelica interrupts, sounding quite bewildered.

Alex is starting to get annoyed now. Angelica sounded almost offended by the whole thing. Hamilton rolls his eyes, stopping the tiny metal fan which held the other's attention. When his ring finger caused the spinner to come to an abrupt stop, Hamilton immediately caught the eyes of Angelica, who had the gall to look annoyed.

“I don't see how this has anything to do with income gaps.”

“You didn't answer my question,” she decides to answer.

Alexander looks at her unamused, but relents anyways while starting up the spinner again- he felt odd without it. “Jefferson gave it to me.” He hadn't even realized how odd that statement really was until he'd said it. Quickly, and trying not to sputter, he pretended nonchalant.

Angelica, however, looks quite stunned, before settling into suspicious confusion. “I thought you two were enemies or something…?” She looks back down to her own journal, eyes finally straying away from the spinner.

Hamilton falters, biting his lip. After realizing his hesitation, he shakes his head. “Oh, well… I mean yeah, of course we are.”

Angelica looks up at that, and Hamilton gives her a posed look.

_ What? _

She smiles, looking back down. “U-huh.”

Hamilton opens his jaw, ready to retort against that obviously unpleasing answer, but decides against it. Might as well let the subject drop while he can.

 

 

______________

 

 

“Goodnight, guys!”

“You too.”

“Don't stay up too late, big day tomorrow.”

“He's talking to you Ham-Ow! That's my bad arm.”

“Well you should be minding your own business.”

Jefferson smiles from where he is packing up, sighing as he slings the bag over his shoulder and bounces his keys in his hand. Everyone is seemingly gone until a soft cough alarms him of something in front of him. Having to look down, Jefferson is surprised at the fact that standing before him is in fact Alexander Hamilton, who looks off to the side nervously, rubbing at the back on his neck.

“Ham-?”

“Drinks?”

Jefferson stares, digesting the offer, which took him long enough to even realize _was_ an offer. "Drinks..?" Hamilton nods, looking peeved and off to the side with his arms crossed in front of him defensively. "It is competition day tomorrow, you sure it's smart to-?"

"You wanna or not?" Alex interjects, eyes still stubbornly averted. 

Jefferson observes him. He looks tired. The seconds go by, but right before Alex looks ready run for it Thomas intercepts. 

"Sure."  

 

 

______________

 

 

“You really do plan this, don't you?” Jefferson asks, reminiscing over his cider.

“What are you talking about, bushhead?” Alex mumbles as he swings back his own drink. 

They’re in Hamilton’s domain now; The Stars and Stripes. Now he just had to pray that none of his friends come in. They were sat at the bar this time around, and Hamilton had gotten them a free round because he knew Elizabeth, which Jefferson had questioned him on but he waved off, secretly hoping the other thought he was as suave with the ladies as he was, the cocky prick.

“Luring men into the night to buy you drinks, Ham?  _ Psh, _ didn't take you for the ty- _Ow!_ God, Franklin's right, you do have a strong arm.”

“Shush.” Hamilton waves him off, before pausing. “Why wouldn't I have a strong arm?”

“Have you seen yourself, Hamilton?” Jefferson rhetorically mutters, a sneaking grin on his face. Hamilton looks unamused however, staring at him blankly for an answer. Jefferson relents, “You're twig. No, wait, a uh... very, very angry chipmunk.”

Despite its offensiveness, Hamilton can't help but laugh. “Well you're uh- hmmm...” Alex hiccups a bit, observing Jefferson languidly. “A, uh-” he chokes a bit as he starts chuckling, “a peacock!”

“A fucking peacock?” Hamilton nods from his fits of laughs, wiping at his eyes which are springing joyful tears. “Why?”

“Have you seen yourself,  _ Jefferson?” _ he mocks, and said man rolls his eyes. “You pamper yourself like a peacock. Have a ‘fancy’ exterior. Use it to get what you want-”

“Alexander!” Jefferson gasps. “Are you insinuating I’m a whore, using my looks for gain?” 

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Hamilton chuckles, leaning back. “Care to refute?”

“Give  _ one  _ example.” Jefferson kicks back, waiting as he sips again. 

Hamilton rights up, grinning at the challenge as he props his arms. “Let’s see…” he considers for only a limited time. “Last time at that bar, with that girl. There was also that time you got Adams out of a ticket, yet again with a _female_ officer. And don't act like I don't know about Mrs. Hemmings-"

Jefferson jump starts, arms up in defense. “Ok, ok-” Hamilton laughs. “But that’s only part of the charm! I also have a dazzling personality.”

Alex snorts, sipping at his cider. “Sure, I’ll give you that.” 

Jefferson is taken aback for a moment, before coy playfulness takes over. “Alexander Hamilton admitting that I have a dazzling personality. Well I ne-”

“No one will believe you.”

Jefferson falters, goes silent, and then his face goes downtrodden in disappointment. “Man, you’re right.”

Alex laughs at this, patting the other’s back in encouragement. “It’s ok. At least you’ll always know. And maybe Madison.”

“Hm, maybe,” Thomas muses. Alex removes his hand, and Jefferson becomes acutely aware of the heat left by it. Butterflies unleash in his stomach, and he looks back at Hamilton who seems unaware of making physical contact. He must be pretty buzzed- The sober Hamilton would’ve flipped shit over any physical intimacy, much less have even gotten into the situation to give it. 

“Man, we’re gonna have to call an uber again, aren’t we?” Jefferson groans.

“Uber’s not too bad.”

“Yeah, if you don’t have to find a way afterwards to get your car home."

There’s a small quiet, and then so softly he almost missed it, “Sorry.”

Jefferson looks over, a bit shocked. Hamilton was staring morosely into his cup, which was almost empty now. He really did look tired. Thomas wasn’t too sure if drinks made Hamilton more honest, or more unlike himself. He prayed for the previous. Taking a deep sigh Jefferson jumps off the stool before backing the cup up fully, taking one last swig that makes his head dizzy. 

After settling himself he says, “Well, it’s getting late…”

Alex simply nods. They pay, wait for an uber in mostly silence, until the first one arrives, it being Hamilton’s. They both rise up from the curb, Hamilton flashing him a hesitant look. “Uh, goodnight. Well, get home safe. Idiot.” It’s lighthearted, and Alexander slips into the back.

Jefferson waves him off. “Yeah, you too. See you tomorrow.” 

“Yeah.”

The car slides off as Jefferson stands there, eyes trailing off with the vehicle forlornly.

Well, at least it was some progress. 

 

 

______________

 

 

_ Tru, _

 

_ Let me tell you a little story about Thomas Jefferson. First year of college, let’s say I was impressionable. And you know how everyone is so in love with him? Well, before I met him that’s all I had ever heard about him. The fashion sense, his tallness, his genius. I was impressed, I guess. And so I did some research, listened in when others talked about him and I saw some of his work, and I’ll admit, it was good. He already had such a high impact on those around him while I had only spent one summer in the States, so I wanted to meet him. Be friends with him, hopefully. So when I found out he was planning on joining the Debate Club I was ecstatic because I’d meet him then. So I gathered all my courage together that day, and came to my first ever meeting for Debate. It was all going well, introducing myself to everyone. And then the whispers started, the foretold ‘Thomas Jefferson’ was near. When he entered it was as if every eye went on him, and I guess I went a little star struck, because he was almost everything everyone had said he would be. George Washington talked with him first, because even as a Sophomore he was still the most put together in the room. Without thinking I went over myself, nearly tripping as I went. I was holding some papers and a book, and when I reached out my hand to shake his the papers went flying. I panicked, and struggled to pick them all up, but there Jefferson was, handing over the last sheet with an easy smile. I’m pretty sure I was beat red at that moment, and without hesitation Jefferson glossed right over my figure, swooping right on by me without another thought. It was disregarding, not to mention humiliating. It was like I was flying only to get shot down. I was too disheartened at first to be upset about it, but just sat in embarrassment with my friend Laurens, who was snickering at me. Meanwhile Jefferson had started running the show, sliding into everyone’s good sides like a pro, making me dig even deeper into my self-conscious hole. I was just about to punch Laurens in the face when it happened; I don’t remember what it was about, or who it was to, but Jefferson had said something wrong. Not even just opinion wise,  factually wrong. It triggered something in me, and before I knew it, I guess I was talking. And everyone was looking at me weird, and Jefferson talked back, and suddenly we were shouting, back and forth and back and forth and it was the first time in my life I had really debated with someone. From then I was hooked, but also, it marked a very real fact for me; I despise Jefferson. Maybe it’s a grudge, but trust me, no one stocks the fire like Jefferson does.  _

 

Hamilton hesitates, his fingers hanging over the keyboard. 

 

_ But _

 

He sighs, laying back to look at the screen. He takes a few minutes to gather his thoughts, think about if he really wanted to do this, because really, it wasn’t such a smart idea. But like usual, an internal ‘yolo’ took hold as he righted up, fingers back on the keys. 

 

_ I guess that’s why I like him. _

 

_ Ham _

 

_ PS: If you share this with anyone by the way, I will find you, and I will kill you. _


	13. The Dating Game Pt.2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pt. 13 of how to make a trash fanfic; obligatory truth or dare scene.

Any progress Jefferson might have made these past weeks, he was pretty sure had evaporated. The evidence of this was in a very grumpy, very hungover Alexander Hamilton who had somehow amounted into his brain that him being sleep deprived and hungover was somehow Jefferson’s fault.

Such man shuffled onto the bus, where Hamilton was decidedly in perfect view of him to make sure he could glare at him the entire way to his seat, and maybe even the whole ride. Avoiding eye contact Jefferson slips into the seat beside Madison, who’s already blocked the world out with his earplugs. It only takes James only one fleeting glance to understand Jefferson’s disheveled state for what it was, and then eye him judgingly, looking back into Jefferson’s eyes with a raised eyebrow. He knew him too well.

Jefferson sighs quietly, shaking his head. “Please don’t ask. Too early.” Madison looks reluctant to drop it, but turns his head away anyways, rolling his eyes. 

But Madison wasn’t the only one to notice.

“Mighty suspicious that you two are the _ only _ hungover occupants of this bus,” Benjamin Franklin, of course, points out from where he is leaning over a bus booth, annoying Burr who is sat on the other end of such bus booth. The both of them give him no reaction. Yet instead of dropping it, Franklin prods further, “Goody two shoes Hamilton getting drunk the night before competition? What will George say?”

It was the exact right button top push, because now Hamilton was bolt upright, mouth opening and np doubt carrying a monologue complete with sources of how Franklin should not do that and should be ashamed of himself. 

Franklin, however, seemed to anticipate this lecturing and so threw his hands up in surrender. “Relax! I’m more upset that you didn’t invite me, honestly.” 

Hamilton doesn’t seem willing to stand down now that he’s stood up, but he does anyways, while instead transferring his anger of Franklin’s prods to Jefferson whom done nothing. But that didn't deter Hamilton, he slipped Thomas the ol’ piercing eyes with as much force humanly possible within a two point second time window.

Jefferson sighs, bumping his head up onto the seat in front of him, slightly uncaring now of messing up his hair. Why was it  _ always _ his fault?

They don’t leave until Washington has boarded, clean shaven and the exact opposite of Jefferson right now, making him exceptionally bitter. Washington was the only one here that ever appeared to be more on top of things than him. Washington calls roll, and then they’re off, the bus like every year, cramped and uncomfortable, so much so Burr actually gets Franklin to knock off his usual antics. It was gonna be a long ride. Jefferson pulls out his notes to prepare, but really it was more so used as a distraction. 

This whole Hamilton thing was ruining him. 

 

 

______________

 

 

 

When they get to the hotel room there's even more preparation, as if in the past two weeks they hadn’t done enough of that. It’s Hamilton really that forces it on them. The moment the bus stops he’s out of his seat barking orders not only to the team but the hotel staff, while Washington looks mildly bemused off to the side and everyone else hang their heads in embarrassment. 

It’s humiliating, yes, but it gets them in their room and unpacked in about ten minutes flat so there’s some use to an Alexander Hamilton berating. Yet there’s not much to look forward to after those ten minutes. The next part of Hamilton schedule is uninterrupted revising, and, unfortunately, editing. And Hamilton seemed quite adamant on editing today- specifically, Jefferson’s points.   

“There’s no point in changing it, it’s perfectly implied-”

“And what if it’s not? We haven’t gotten a fresh pair of eyes for this script in a week. It’s better safe than sorry.” 

The two are using the only desk in the hotel room where everyone has cramped themselves, Jefferson taking up the main chair and Hamilton having pulled up one right next to him. Alexander had been there for awhile, actually, almost permanently. He had said he’d make his rounds to answer questions, concerns, or give second opinions, but it seems for the last hour he had been glued to Jefferson’s side, bickering about everything from on subject to off subject.

“If it was in your control this thing would be fifty pages long and take thirty minutes to present.” Jefferson resists saying something more biting, because despite Hamilton being an ass right now, he was in a sour, and Thomas knew the source of this pestering was just because he was nervous. And what a better stress outlet than Thomas fucking Jefferson?

Hamilton was on the edge of his seat, biting his lip and looking at the paper worryingly. When the build up was too much for him, he finally reached out for the pen Jefferson was reverently writing with. “Let me just-” Thomas quickly shubs the pen out of reach, his long limbs making it impossible for Hamilton to grab at. “Jefferson, I’m just-”

“No, no way.” He is quite stern about it, but then again, Hamilton is quite stern too. The smaller of them stands, leaning forward with a headstrong will to get the pen, while Jefferson, still remaining seated, backed further into his chair to keep it from him. 

“Just-  _ ack, _ give me it!” Hamilton was nearly straddling him now, gripping at open air as Jefferson pivoted the pen it of his reach. 

“No!” Jefferson protests as he leans even further backward, making the chair screech in its stretch to accommodate the displaced weight. 

“You fucking skyscraper,  _ give me it!”  _ It has become quite clear to the two now that if Hamilton really wanted a writing utensil, it would take far less effort to just cross the room and get a pencil elsewhere. But no, this struggle was no longer about the pen. This fight was about their stubborn pride, the sheer will they had always to best each other no matter the tactlessness of it, or honestly, sheer stupidity. Because really, they looked quite weird now, with Hamilton nearly laying atop a practically flat Jefferson, batting their hands around uselessly. 

“You monkey, get off of me!” Jefferson combats with one particularly hard lurch that made the pen even taller above his bushyhead. 

This insult makes Alex finally pause, looking down on the other with an unbelieving amount of ‘doneness’. “Jefferson.”

The other, however, does not waver. “Hamilton.” 

“Get a room!” The two are unsure of who exactly yelled it, because they were much too preoccupied with then realizing the sudden position they were in. Alexander Hamilton was quite literally now straddling atop Thomas Jefferson.

Before one could blink Alex is now thrown off Jefferson, both recovering in heavy pants from their haste to relieve themselves from one another and each with flushed faces mostly caused from the heat in the room of course, why else?

Once Jefferson had recovered, his heart beating hard and heavy in his chest, he came to realize Hamilton position now on the floor. “Oh, uh- Sorry,” he spits out lamely. 

Hamilton, meanwhile, rights himself up like it never happened, looking off to the side in determined indifference. “Yeah, whatever.” It goes quiet in the room for what feels like the only time in about two hours, and this was because the entire time it had only been Jefferson and Hamilton insistently talking, and the weight of that now hangs in the room with its absence. 

It doesn’t take long for Hamilton to start talking again, though. Jefferson has turned back and shoved his face into the papers on the desk, the rukus is over so any attention once lingering on the pair has moved on, but Hamilton soon has the courage to look back on Jefferson. After observing him for a moment, Alex easily states, “Your hair’s

Jefferson cocks up, ready to return fire yet again when the calmest, yet most terrifying voice fills the room.  

“Hamilton.” The name makes a much different silence hold the room. The type of quiet that makes everybody’s heads pop up and focus in on George Washington, who is all eyes for Hamilton, the young man stiffened at the address. “Stop fussing over him.”

Alexander’s eyes widen, mouth popping open and horror twists up his face. The blush returns. “I-I am  _ not-” _

A cooing sound interrupts Hamilton’s flustered response and unamused gazes land on Franklin laying on the bed. “Oh my gosh! I just realized something. Georgie is like our dad, and Ham’s like our mo-”

“Ben,” Burr sighs, shaking his head. “Don’t.” 

“I’m just saying,” Franklin mumbles, looking back down to his phone. 

This seems to appease the conversation of the room, because it settles into quiet again, the soothing sounds of pen to paper and finger to keys making up the whole of the room. Hamilton, now efficiently done with Jefferson, moves on instead to hold quiet murmurings with Burr who seems unpleased with whatever he is saying, probably bad mouthing Jefferson.

Thomas rolls his eyes, starring unthinkingly at the contents of the text before him. Despite Alexander’s urgings, the argument is really fine. And now Jefferson had nothing to do without defending it from Hamilton. The space beside him is cold again and he sighs, thinking maybe a nap would be appropriate now that Hamilton is probably deterred from confronting him for the time being with Washington’s interference.

He thinks further over what Washington said, thoughts about how odd and backwards Hamilton seemed to function springing to mind as he drifts off. 

_ I guess that’s why I like him. _

 

 

______________  

 

 

It’s downtime now, thank God. And surprisingly it didn’t take any convincing of Hamilton to get it. He was quite pliant even, as Washington suggested getting some snacks and chilling for the rest of the night. Jefferson is quick to grab a beer, Washington and James giving him hard stares as he does, but he doesn’t much care, plopping down back into his seat and relishing in the cold touch of the can. 

Once everyone had resettled, Hamilton remained the only one standing, a presence no one seemed to not be weary of. “I suggest a game,” Hamilton proposed from the front of the room. A stunned but not unhappy response came after this, Burr even glancing up from his book. 

“What game?” Washington asks, genuinely curious. Jefferson takes a sip of his beer, raising a brow in question as well. 

Hamilton crosses his arms, unflinching. “Truth or dare.” 

In seconds Jefferson’s entire gulp he’d just taken in is now sputtered over his lap. Hastly he stands, padding off the wetness as he zooms by to the other side of the room to the bathroom, and as he passes by Hamilton, grabs him by one arm. It goes so quickly Alexander cant even manage an outcry until they’re halfway into the bathroom.

“Hey! What're you-?”

“Meeting.”

They enter the bathroom, and Jefferson slams the door behind them. He twists around, stricken bewildered. “What the fuck are you doing?” he hisses quietly. 

Hamilton crosses his arms, grimacing in annoyance. “Finding this admirer. Just because it's competition doesn't mean the investigation is on hold.” Jefferson’s mouth gaps. “This is a one in a lifetime moment where I’ll have all the suspects stuck in a room with me. Other than John Jay… But anyways, what better way to make ‘im squirm than in truth or dare?”

Thomas shakes his head to smack out of his frozen state. “You're… You’re not seriously telling me right now that if they pick truth you're just gonna straight up ask them-”

“No, of course not, _Idiot._ But it's a perfectly good time to gather some intel,” Hamilton explains, hands splayed in presentation, begging desperately for the other to get it.   

It wasn't a bad plan, really. But that's exactly why Jefferson was so object to it. 

Hamilton resigns after Jefferson goes quiet, a suspicion slowly creeping into his eyes. An invisible wall goes up as he crosses his arms again as a barrier. “Yknow, Jefferson... ever since you said you'd help me you've done nothing but prevent me from any forward progress. I'm starting to think you're trying to stop me-”

“I'm not,” Jefferson forces out, panic taking hold. 

What should he do? What  _ could _ he do-?

Hamilton gives him no time to rest, leaning forward in interrogation. “You protecting someone? Madison, maybe-?” 

“What is with you and thinking it's  _ James?” _ Jefferson finally relents, level voice to hell as spiteful frustration takes hold.

Hamilton snaps at his raised voice. “Because he's  _ mentioned _ you!” Hamilton freezes, realizes what he’s let on and retreats quickly back into whatever emotionally shell he’s built himself.

Jefferson knows this, of course he would. But the shock still seems to get him, and it’s true in his voice. “What...?” 

”Forget it,” Hamilton whispers, voice cold and eyes off to the side. 

“He's mentioned me? What'd he say?” Jefferson questions, innocent interest lined in his voice as Hamilton shakes his head vehemently. 

“It's nothing.”

Jefferson doesn’t know why he prods. I guess because it’s different, here. To be in person. To talk about this stuff in person, maybe Hamilton would relent, reveal what Jefferson has only seen in text. How unreliable, he thinks. You could say anything over the internet, flesh was so much different.

“Hamilton, I can't help you if you don't tell me what's going on,” he tries to reason.

This seems to move Hamilton, as the cold mask breaks and he tentatively looks back at him, biting his lip. He looks a little weak in the eyes, quiet, vulnerable, “Ok, ok, so... He asked me what I think about you,” Alexander whispers like a secret, eyes flickering nervously. 

Thomas needs to hear what he had scanned over and over on a computer screen. What he spent hours re-reading and analyzing.  

_ I guess that’s why I like him. _

“And what'd you say?” Jefferson combats immediately, leaning forward in eagerness.  

“That's-” Hamilton backs up, a slight pink dusting his cheeks. “That is none of your-”

“Ooooh lovebirds?” a calling comes from outside the door, and then some insistent tapping. 

Hamilton takes any excuse he can get. “We should go-” he starts, moving to go around Jefferson 

Thomas attempts to block him, but Alexander easily slips by him, going for the doorknob. “Wait, what did you-?”

Hamilton slams bathroom door open, and a resounding crunch comes afterward. 

“Oh,  _ ow!”  _

Jefferson peers around Alex to find Franklin there, clutching his nose with teary eyes and looking up in painful betrayal to Hamilton. 

“That's what you get for peeping in on other’s private conversations,” Alex states coldly. 

“Private conversation? We could hear you from the other side of the building!” Benjamin protests.

Hamilton pays no mind to this, and passes him quickly to come back to the main room, where everyone is staring. Hamilton, again, pays no mind to this, and plops himself right down. Jefferson follows after hesitantly patting Franklin on the back. 

“So. Game.”

What ensues is a number of things; Burr is forced to lick Madison’s foot, Hancock admits to some forgeries (nothing too serious, for the most part), Hamilton is forced to do as many push ups as he can (which was not many), Madison is then forced to lick Burr’s foot, and some basic crush questions are scattered through-out there, all of which anticlimactic. 

“What is so unbelievable about me having a crush on my  _ girlfriend?” _ Washington asks in exasperation yet still fond amusement. 

Franklin huffs as he crosses his arms. “I’m not satisfied. I demand to get to ask another question!” 

“That’s not how it works,” Burr drawls from where he sits beside him.

“Ask away,” Washington allows, smiling and leaning back on the pillow he’s propped himself on. 

Franklin presses his hands together in concentration, brows scrunched together for a second before his tensions relaxes, a victorious smile on his face. He leans forward, whispering like he’s solved the greatest question known to earth, “What is your greatest fear?”

The question itself isn’t too remarkable, but who it’s to is the significant thing. George Washington wasn’t known to fear, let alone be bothered, by much of anything, so a truth such as this was something unknown to everyone. They leaned forward in anticipation as a grave look came over Washington’s face. 

Finally, he admits, “Getting buried alive.”  

The occupants consider this, Franklin nodding in approval. “I’m satisfied.” 

“Finally,” Burr sighs under his breath. 

Hancock interrupts Franklin before he can begin, “So, Washington. Choose your victim,” he says mock-scathingly.   

An uncharacteristically dark smile takes over their president’s face as he scans the room. Finally, he settles on Madison. “James, truth or dare.”

James is unflinching in his response. “I’m not licking or being licked by anyone.” Jefferson laughs a bit to his side while Burr nods in solemn agreement. 

“Truth, then.” Washington thinks a moment. “Who… would you  _ least _ like to make out with in this room?” 

“Oooo, good one!” Hancock admires, making agreeing eye contact with Franklin beside him. 

Madison winces, biting his lip. 

“Well?” Franklin prods, smiling mischievously. 

Madison rolls his eyes. “It’d have to be… Alexander, I guess.” 

The answer shocks most in the group, honestly. But mostly Hamilton, who looks quite offended, but resolved. It takes Jefferson a moment, but then he realizes and a small warm feeling curls in his chest. He sends a discrete, grateful smile Madison’s way and Madison acknowledges it with a small nod. 

“Really?” Franklin gasps. “You’d make out with  _ George _ before  _ Alex?” _

James winces, horrifying realization finally catching up with him. “On the other hand-” 

“No take backsies!” Hancock calls, laughing boisterously. 

“What are we, twelve?” Burr snides good-naturedly. 

“Shut up, Burr.”

“Could we get on with it?” Hamilton sighs, rolling his eyes. 

“Yeah, yeah, James?”

Madison nods, looking around the group. Ultimately, he lands on his fellow friend, Thomas. Jefferson takes in the calculating gaze with a silent warning, and James laughs. 

“Thomas, truth or dare?” 

Jefferson silently estimates the risks before finally deciding, “... Truth.”

Madison breaks out into a bigger smiles, and Jefferson silently curses to himself. “Ok, what is the meanest you’ve been to someone, who didn’t deserve it?” 

“Damn, you people are good-” Hancock praises, eyes wide. 

“Let him think!” Franklin shushes, eyes wide as well as everyone looks onto Jefferson who shifts nervously. 

“Meanest thing I’ve probably ever said was to my dad, but he definitely deserved it, so-” It was meant to make light of the situation, but no one seemed interested. “Uh…” Jefferson looks down into his lap. He didn’t know if he should or not, because really, how many more hints could he drop? But this was truth or dare, and you were meant to answer honestly. 

“I mean, I guess I can be a cocky bastard sometimes-” Hamilton huffs in agreement, and Jefferson sends him a sideways glare. “And I guess my pride can get in the way, I get carried away, so- There’s some instances, I suppose, where I’ve been unnecessarily cruel towards Hamilton.” It’s quiet, and Jefferson chances a glance at Alex. 

His face isn’t giving off anything, he’s frozen and probably a bit shocked, his eyes internally fighting a war of whether Thomas was being truly sincere or not, Jefferson guessed. That’s how Hamilton was, always unsure of people who praised him, and yet so eager for praise. 

“So, there’s that.”

Alexander doesn’t seem like he’s about to comment on it, but that’ ok with Jefferson. Quickly, he changes the subject. “My turn!” It was his chance. Either he’d dig himself further into hell or execute a return to normalcy. “Hamilton. Truth or dare?”

“Dare,” Alex says easily. 

“You chose dare last time,” Franklin grumbles from across the circle. Hamilton sends him a pointed, uncaring look. 

“Alright.” Jefferson smiles, and Alex begins to look a bit weary. “I get to call someone on your phone, talk to them, and you can't say a thing.” James laughs at his side, and everyone smiles.

Hamilton’s eyes narrow, but slowly he stands, crosses the room to his bag, and pulls out his phone. When he returns, he hands the device over torturously. Jefferson takes it eagerly, opening it up. “Man, how old is this thing?” 

“I’m sorry, what was the part in the dare where it says ‘take insults towards phone’?” Hamilton asks sarcastically, tilting his head to the side.   

Jefferson rolls his eyes before landing on his intended name in the contacts. John Laurens. He was  _ bound  _ to slip something up. He presses on the contact, it dials, and Jefferson then opens it up to speakerphone, something Hamilton looks ready to protest to, but then it picks up.

_ “‘Sup Hammy. Gotta rant about Jefferson again?” _

Jefferson raises a brow over at Alex, who reluctantly keeps quiet with a pout.

Jefferson smiles evilly as he drawls, “Oh? do tell.”

_ “...Jefferson?” _

“The one and only.”

_ “Why do you have Alex’s phone?”  _ There’s a tint of worry there, and Jefferson quickly relieves it. 

“He’s on the receiving end of a dare as of right now,” he says, sending a warning look Alex’s way. He glares back. 

_ “Ahh, I see. Am I supposed to reveal some telling secret of Alexander’s then?” _

“If you want.” Jefferson shrugs even though Laurens can't see it. 

_ “Y’know what? I’ve actually been meaning to tell you something.”  _ Jefferson smiles inquiringly. _ “Alex, couple of friends and I were hanging out at this bar-”  _ Hamilton’s eyes seem to widen, as he sits up, quickly reaching for the phone when-  _ “and he admitted you’re pretty hot.” _

Hamilton is shouting almost immediately, bolt upright with hands clenched to his sides. “Did not! I  _ did not.” _

_ “Oh, hey Ham!” _

Hamilton is looking around pleadingly. “I said out of the Debate club, you were the cutest, ok? I did not-” he freezes at his own confession, going completely dark red as he ducks his head. “I-I mean, I didn’t...”

But it was too late, soon the entire group had broken into cat calls and coos of the most teasing nature, Jefferson stock still in the middle of it, still trying to determine if this was a dream or not. Around the fourth or fifth “I knew it!” from Franklin was when Hamilton finally snapped, standing at lightning speed and swiping the phone from Jefferson’s grasp. Alexander hesitates when he makes eye contact with Jefferson, shame clear in his eyes before he turns away and walks back to his bag across the room.

“Ok, that’s enough of that.” 

“What? But we just started!” 

“Yeah, c’mon, couple more rounds!” 

“Count me out,” Hamilton hisses, clearly the anger was taking place now. He sighs, shaking his head. “I’m going out,” he says, marching for the door, putting his phone off the speaker and up to his ear. His voice and stomps grow distant as he slams the door.  _ “John, what the fu-” _

It goes quiet when Hamilton leaves, and Jefferson is still frozen. 

“Welp, fun’s over now I guess,” Franklin reluctantly admits, moving to stand up. 

Hancock sighs as well, nodding in agreement. The rest of the group disperses, going back to their snacks and sulking. Madison stays beside Jefferson though, making questioning eye contact. It takes Jefferson awhile, but soon, he returns the stare, and a smile slowly creeps onto his face. 

It wasn’t the confession he had been going for, but still, it was most welcomed. 

Hamilton thinks he’s cute. 

_ I guess that’s why I like him.  _


	14. Set Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Early meetings, donut conspiracy, and Franklin decides to start some shit he expects his friends to finish

It was an early morning, and thankfully, also warm. The chill was simply a presence on the tip of his nose, and the jacket just for show. A navy blue bomber cut with the clearly printed words ‘Eagle Private University’ across the back.

All the team member’s representatives were meeting for a run-down of how the competition day would pan out; a showing of their space beforehand, instructions on call times, where to go, facilities, all that jazz. And despite the laziness of which this time certainly called for, Hamilton was wide awake and on utmost alert. 

Alex stuffs his hands into his jacket, fidgety. He was so pumped up on adrenaline; every competition morning felt like Christmas day. He had a lot of questions to ask, requests to be made, people to reconnect with- Heck, Hamilton would practically run the entire convention itself if security didn’t always have to get involved. It got so bad Washington almost denied Alexander the position as their representative at one point, but the truth is there just wasn’t anyone else who could do it, as Hamilton was the entire backbone of their communications.  

“Ah, Hamilton, right?” a young man with dark eyes asks as Hamilton passes him in the main convention center. He’s wearing a team vest as well, it seems, so he must be another school’s rep, here for the meeting.

“You bet,” Alex curtly responds, because he doesn’t recognize the other at all. 

“I found the meeting room. Bit confusing, isn’t it?”  

Hamilton nods, but internally he shrugs. He was at least somewhat decent at directions, and he’d only just begun his search. 

“You’re early. Same with me, and a few others… Apparently there was a food stand we could pick from so-” the man points at his banana, “-yeah. I can show you the room, or maybe pick some stuff up from the stand first. It is early, after all."

Hamilton raises a brow. “Is there coffee?”

The other laughs, and Alex reminisces quietly that it’s far too early for that. Even if he was so alert. “Sure is. C’mon.”

The unknown representative leads him to a table filled with muffins and fruit, and indeed, coffee. Hamilton helps himself generously, while the one accompanying him tries not to look discouraged at the grotesque amount of sugar. 

“So, I told the others I’d inform you of a bit of a get together the teams are planning.”

Hamilton hums, “Dinner outing or a party of some sort?” It was traditional to have a get-together between teams after competitions, they were trying to be a positive community, after all. A positive community full of cynicals… Now that he thought of it, it was a bit more for tradition’s sake.

The other smiles, eyes winking. “Kind of, but something a bit more our style.” Hamilton blankly stares at him, and he shakes his head in return. “A free-for-all debate. Like a rap battle? Anyone can jump in. Think of it as a little warm up before the big day.” 

That was new, but Hamilton had to admit sounded fun. 

“Alright, sounds good.” 

The still-a-stranger’s shoulders relax a bit, a relieved sigh leaving his lips as he reaches into his jacket to pull out a pre-made information note. 

“Text this. I’ll send you updates.”

“Uh… thanks.” Hamilton looks warily at the card. It was odd how the other was acting. He catches the name on the card, as well as his University. It’s not one he recognizes, so that might be why he doesn’t know him, but that hardly explains why he knows Alex. “Why so tense, Hale?” Hamilton asks, not one to beat around the bush as he pockets the card.  

“Oh! Uh, you noticed?” this ‘Nathan Hale’ stutters, turning bashful. 

“Well yeah. Don’t recognize the school, I guess you’re just new? Everything’s pretty relaxed here, at least between the schools. That is… until we’re on the floor.” Alex flashes his own smile.

Hale tries to brighten up on the joke. “Yeah, it’s just… all the others wanted me to invite you and they were just like-” he struggles for words, “-so  _ insistent _ that I make sure y'all come. Apparently, if you don’t mind me being blunt, your team tends to… start stuff?” 

Oh, Hamilton knew what he was talking about. As Washington blandly put it, ‘making a scene’ was their forte.  

Alex begrudgingly nodded. 

“And I mean I’m sure they mean that as a good thing!” Hale tries to amend, hands up in surrender. “They really wanted ya’ll to be there, like a life to the party kinda thing.” 

“I get you. Why wouldn't they just ask me themselves? Sounds like it's pretty important to them, so why put the, _if you don't mind me being blunt,_ newbie in charge of my invite?”

Hale falters at his quite apparent mock, and Hamilton considers that Washington would be quite cross with him if he were to find out he'd been rude to a new school, being this would be their first impression of them. Well, too late now. He started it anyways. 

Nathan bites his lip as he replies, shrugging slightly, "I guess they were worried you'd say no if they asked?"

Hamilton scoffs at this, sauntering off from the refreshment table into whatever direction he thought was his best bet. "And miss a chance to kick their asses? Never." 

Hale chokes on a laugh at this, if a bit unsure if Alex was really joking or not. Hamilton smirks. 

 If it was hell they wanted, they could have it.

 

 

______________

 

 

“How was the meeting?” Washington asked as soon as Hamilton arrived back in the hotel room, of which now the entire team seemed to infest after they had split into their separate rooms last night. 

“Who invited all these people here?” Hamilton asks instead of answering, eyebrow raised at the the occupants of the room. 

“Aaron got donuts!” Hancock calls from the back of the room, noise slightly muffled due to a puffed pastry being in his mouth.  

Hamilton looks over at Burr, who shrugs lamely. “I didn’t think they’d find out.”

“You had a snitch,” Madison advised from where he sits smugly, legs atop Jefferson's as they both, a touch more gracefully, eat their own donuts. 

Wordlessly, it seems Hamilton, Burr, and Washington look over at Franklin, who sits guiltily. “What? He’s my pal! I didn’t know he was gonna bring the whole entourage with him…”

“Well that’s besides the point,” Hamilton groans while reaching up a hand to rub at his eyes- The early rising seem to be finally taking its toll. “It’s better you’re all here for this anyway.” The team looked over at him with interest. “Like every year, there’s gonna be a team meet and greet-” A resounding disinterested groan followed straight after this, Jefferson particularly who had the gall to begin picking at his phone. Hamilton rolls his eyes, taking his own seat. “And it’s happening before the debate.” 

Now _ this _ retained their attention. 

Jefferson, from where he had sagged his head, popped up, an addled look in his eyes which narrowed at him in scrutiny. “What? But, right before competition? That’s just… unsportsmanly-”  

“If you would just _listen,”_ Hamilton stressed, “you could understand why.” Jefferson’s mouth, reluctantly, clamped up. It wasn't often that it was _Jefferson_ who had to listen, and so Hamilton took immense pleasure in it. He continues, smugly now, “It’s because they’re switching up what team meet-up is.” Hamilton let this sit with them for a second, perplexed looks creeping on all their faces. “They want to do… a debate-off.”  

Quiet filled the room. Rising excitement or distrust seemed to clash and spark around, as both Hancock and Franklin looked over at each other in knowing, gittish hype while practically everyone else seemed skeptical. 

Finally Burr voiced what they’d all been thinking, except Hancock and Franklin who’d begun whispering amongst themselves, “Debate-off. Isn’t that just… a debate? And isn’t a debate literally what we’re just doing tomorrow?” Jefferson even laughed at this, everyone else repressing a grin. 

Hamilton narrowed his eyes, lips going taut in a grimace. “Yes.” Jefferson laughed harder.  _ “But _ this is different from a regular debate. Anyone can jump in; It’s like improv. A debate-off. All the teams.” 

“That sounds like a good warm-up,” Washington murmurs from where he’s propped against the bed, hand grasping at his chin. All eyes seem to be glued to him, his words as good as a stamp of approval, like cement. Whoever had been reluctant before had no choice now.  

Burr couldn’t help it however, and let his own contemplative thoughts known, though subtly, “Or a way to get our spirits down before our big debate.” His eyes held warning, a caution Hamilton could never understand. 

“Spirits?” came a spitting remark.  _ “Down?!” _ it reiterated, and Hamilton finally glanced up to identify it as Benjamin Franklin, looking betrayed with a dramatic hand held against his chest in alarm. “Not with this team. If anything, I’m just worried about having to hold back our firecracker Alexander before he gets us kicked out of the premises.” Despite expressing a worry, he was smirking like he was actually in great anticipation for Hamilton’s so-called ‘premises-kicking actions’.

This seemed to amuse everyone except Washington, who was taking the matter very seriously. “There will be no getting kicked off the premises,” he said sternly, his voice a heavy weight that pulled back any wondering interests from their heights. “We represent our school here and will present the utmost profession.” He had stood now. “Have respect for your school, the other schools, and most importantly-” Hamilton dared to think Washington had grazed his eyes more poignantly over him at this moment “-yourselves.”

The words sank in, and like a cool cloak, dampened whatever fire had begun to burn up. But, like always, a spark of the flame kept strong...  “All I’m saying is... if there were ever a more opportune moment to start some shit-” Franklin relinquished, voice in false-innocence,  _ “-This _ would be the time to do it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO! Super short chapter. Sorry. Just so y'know it's because I've decided to combine two chapters in the future, and so I had to stretch some things out aaaand this chapter kinda got the sharp edge of the stick. Chapters should be at normal length from here on out- Thank you!


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